


Date Night Dash

by MarvelLitChick



Series: Maybe Life is Just One Big Marathon... [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, F/M, Romance, Wild goose chase, badass Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-21 09:43:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 44,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6046939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarvelLitChick/pseuds/MarvelLitChick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Bucky wanted was to ask her to move into his Avengers Tower suite. It was way too big for just him and he wanted her close. All Darcy wanted was a nice New Year's Eve with her boyfriend. But when plans change and shadows loom large, Bucky will finally learn: sometimes you're really not a monster. You just have to run from them. And Darcy wore the wrong pair of shoes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hiccups

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, guys! Back again! I decided that my Steve/Natasha date night fail needed a companion. So, here I am with Date Night Dash, otherwise known as "Darcy and Bucky can't have nice things, such as a romantic night out (complete with apartment keys) because he's a reformed brainwashed assassin." And Darcy seriously wore the wrong pair of shoes. This plot runs concurrent with The BackUp, so AT THE SAME TIME. It probably, therefore, would be helpful if you went back and read that one first (technically it's first in this series). Obviously, this is established Bucky/Darcy, so humor will ensue, complete with some angst and feels--HELLO, Winter Soldier. But Darcy's here, so it's gonna be kinda hilarious, too, because Darcy's ridiculous. Also, this is longer than The BackUp...so...yeah...I'm long-winded. Or maybe it's just all the feels from that main scene in The Winter Soldier, where Sebastian was just acting his socks off in, like, under 15 words. Every time I hear "I knew him" I sorta wanna cry a little. Take your pick. Anyway, there will be a few fun cameos in here, too, so look out for them--also, points if anyone can draw the hidden parallels here with The BackUp. Let me know what you think--comments are just so unspeakably wonderful! Enjoy!

A knock at Darcy’s door made her curse—out loud, one leg into the dress she’d spent ten minutes choosing, one planted firmly on the floor of her bedroom. Distracted as she looked up, she stumbled straight into the dresser, bashing the wall. She cursed again, reaching up to straighten her glasses. Somehow she always fooled herself into thinking that she’d miraculously be dressed by the time he made it from her front door buzzer to her actual apartment.

                There was silence in the hallway. Then, “You alright in there, doll?”

                Unable to maintain her scowl, she smirked, finally sliding her leg in, and sighed. “It’s all good. You know me and my talent for bashing into things!” she called.

                A husky chuckle sent a shiver down her spine as she came into the front room and approached the door, pushing her arms through the capped sleeves. She pulled it open, already gathering her hair behind her neck and turning around. “Would you do me up, Buck?”

                Bucky’s metal fingers were cool through the thin material of her royal blue dress, and she shivered as the flesh fingers of his right did up the zipper. “Good color on you, Darce,” he said, his voice low, his breath warm on her shoulder and neck. “There.” His mouth stole a kiss from the bare skin left exposed by the wide collar, and he lingered there a moment.

                “Mm,” she hummed, letting her hair down and turning to face her date. “And have I mentioned that you rock that leather jacket?” She went into her bedroom and to her jewelry box on her dresser, perused the contents for a moment, and selected a necklace.

                A grin split his face, and his blue eyes crinkled. “Once or twice.” He stepped into her tiny apartment. It wasn’t a long walk from the Tower, and he’d spent enough time doing it when he and Steve had been kids, but it was cold in New York in January, and her little space was cozy, the radiator clicking away in the corner. “I always said you were a dame with good taste.”

                She crossed the room again in the act of clasping her necklace shut, and leaned into him, her hand warm on his hard chest. “You don’t need to tell me how awesome I am, I already _know_ ,” she quipped, but her eyes were more serious than usual as she noticed the black baseball cap on his head. “Jamie…sweetie, no one’s looking for you anymore. You know that, right?”

                It still amazed him, how she could go from his goofy, silly Darcy, to serious in the space of a few seconds.

She was also the only person he’d ever met to use his first name—in _any_ capacity. Well, other than his mother when she was angry with him.

He shrugged. “Yeah. I know. Kinda attached to it now, I guess.”

He felt less noticeable in it, like he blended into the crowd. Just like anyone else.

                She kissed him, long and slow, before pulling back to look up at him with dark eyes. “Well, my fella looks pretty sexy in it, so I guess it’s a lucky thing.” She crossed the room, and pulled something else out of her jewelry box. “Just give me a sec, and I’ll be ready to go!”

                “I’m early, Darce,” he said as he followed her, leaning in the doorway. “Take your time.”

                “How’d it go with Dr. Rosen?”

                He shut down a little, frowning. “She doesn’t like that the nightmares are still hanging around.”

                She retrieved a tube of lipstick from her vanity, nodding. “What’d she say?”

                He shrugged. “Nothing, really. Just that something like this is…unprecedented and it’s gonna take time.” He rolled his eyes. “Same old speech.”

She smoothed on the deep red shade, snatched a tissue from her nightstand, and blotted it, shaking her head. “Buck, it’s not like there’s a timetable for this. Look how you were when you first got to the Tower. Totally paranoid and all angry and hostile. Tony wouldn’t even let you leave the lab.” She put a tiny stud into her left ear before moving to her right, but switched tactics with a smirk. “How long did it take for you to make a move?”

                He shrugged, bashful, his ears reddening.

                She giggled at him, her nose crinkling endearingly. “ _Too_ long! You and you’re, ‘I don’t wanna hurt you, doll’, even though I kept telling you the ship sailed sophomore year, dude!”

                He sighed. “Well, I guess I’m just old-fashioned with dames.”

                She giggled again. “If you hadn’t asked me out finally, I was gonna do it myself.”

                With a deep breath, he looked around, surveying the small space. “Don’t you want a bigger place, Darce?”

                She shrugged as she slid past him, grabbing up her pea coat, left tossed on the loveseat. “Sure, duh, but Jane’s grant doesn’t pay much, so…”

                He frowned. “Why doesn’t Stark take you on, then? You’re finished with your degree. And you keep babysitting him. He outta be paying you.”

                She snorted. “Tell that to the man-child. Ready to go?”

                He took her coat and helped her into it.

“I could get used to this gentleman act.”

                “ _’Act’_?” he repeated, sounding faux wounded. “ _Me_?”

                She snorted indelicately. “Oh, please. I’ve heard Steve’s stories from back in the day. You were a charmer, Barnes, don’t think you fool me.”

                But he snared her in his embrace and felt her shudder against his arm. “I got no idea what you mean, doll.” He kissed a deliberate trail up her throat, and she giggled at the scruff she insisted he not fully shave off.

                The truth was he had been a bit of a dog—at least from what he could remember; a lot of the stuff around the end of the war—and that train job—was particularly fuzzy. The job HYDRA had done on his brain had obliterated all that…bravado, it seemed.

                A half a year ago, he’d been loath to get this close to her, too terrified of hurting her, of losing control, of something in his mind snapping and breaking her.

                Even now, he was half scared whenever she climbed into his bed, that he’d wake in some fever dream and only come to when she’d been pulverized by his mechanical fist.

                He flinched, stepping back, distracting himself with pulling on his leather glove, covering his metal hand.

                That didn’t fool her either, but she ignored it, looping her arm through his elbow. “Let’s go, fella.”

                He looked down at her black pumps and arched a brow. “You sure you wanna wear those? We’re walking to our reservation.”

                She shrugged, but batted her eyelashes. “Well, how else can I entice you to carry me around later?”

                There went that husky laugh again. “Oh, you don’t need those to do that, sweetheart.”

                She flushed, but shoved at his shoulder. “Shut uuup, Barnes!”

                They walked for a few blocks in companionable silence, passing people and other couples on the wide sidewalks, groups milling around, getting ready for the ball to drop. They avoided Times Square like the Plague, but just as Darcy was wondering where he was taking her, he tugged her into a small, but prim steak joint, holding the door for her with a hand at the small of her back.

                “Never been here,” she said, looking around.

                “Wanda suggested it, said it was good.” He swallowed, suddenly nervous, and patted the box in the pocket of his black slacks.

                There were dark curtains everywhere, and small, intimate tables for two strewn about the room. The small kitchen was bustling at the back, but the atmosphere was relaxed and sweet. Everything was laid out on black and plaid, proper and neat, but not stuffy or overly eccentric.

                “It’s quaint!” she said, nodding at him.

                He smiled, reaching out to straighten her glasses.

                She flinched. “You’d rather I wore my contacts, eh?”

                But he shook his head. “Nah. I like ‘em.”

                She gave him a coy look.

                He turned to the host. “Seven o’clock reservation for Barnes.”

                Darcy turned to stare at him, her mouth open in a happy shape of surprise. But he didn’t notice as he wrapped his hand around hers and followed the host to their table. It wasn’t until he’d helped her out of her coat and pushed in her chair behind her and sat down that he saw her expression.

                He froze. “Why you looking at me like I grown a second head?”

                She smiled. “You used your last name with the reservations?” Her voice turned up, like he’d given her a gift, even though he’d already explained that he was running late for Christmas and that her gift was still coming.

                Truthfully, he’d felt awful about that. Back home, it hadn’t been such a material holiday and he’d been taken by surprise, still tricking the ins and outs of everyday life here. Also, he’d already been toying with the idea in his head and had needed just a little extra time to make sure she’d be receptive to it.

                And the doctor had wanted just one more session with him to make sure he was one-hundred percent; or, at least a percent enough to give her what he _wanted_ to give her.

                And that safety…it was the most important thing in his mind. His own safety, regaining his memories and his life—Hell, his own sanity! It all paled in comparison to her.

                Even his old self—the cock-sure charmer, the maybe _a little bit_ womanizer, the Sergeant of the 107 th…had never felt like this before.

                It was odd, and confusing, this jumble inside him, this uncharacteristic shyness, the uncertainty, the maddening worry, the determination and bitterness and anger. The agony of not being sure if he’d reverted to the way he was with some improvements or had turned clean into someone else. He wasn’t sure which was better, which one he’d prefer.

                Sometimes he jumped at his own reflection.

                But Darcy.

                Darcy made him feel like himself, safe and sure and sane.

                He hadn’t said it yet, but it was bubbling in his chest and he didn’t know how long he could hold it in anymore. Steve would tell him to just let it out and that he’d feel better afterwards. Steve had always been that way, open and honest. But Bucky figured…maybe he’d spent so long protecting his friend that he’d gotten too good at doing it to himself.

                “You usually use my name if we go out. Or some fake one. But you used _Barnes_!”

                He shrugged, flipping open the menu, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. “Yeah, well. It’s my last name. Figured I’d been too long being someone else.”

                She smiled so wide, he feared she’d break her face, but by then the waiter had arrived to take their drink order.

                He requested their sweetest wine and Darcy beamed brighter; he knew she hated the dry stuff.

                She reached across the table and grabbed his hand. “Is _this_ my present?! All this _progress_?! Is _this_ my gift?!”

                She’d been so fine with him not having anything on Christmas that he’d been flabbergasted, but she’d been trying to guess what he’d gotten her ever since, side-eyeing him and making odd comments here and there.

                He knew, of course, that what they had was still tentative and new, but he knew where it was going for him. He just had to wade through all the other stuff first. He wondered if maybe he’d known it that first day, when she’d come down to the lab and not flinched away from him. That day, she’d asked Stark how the repairs on his arm were going and if he was in control of himself. And she’d sat there watching him with curiosity, and when Stark had left her with a stern warning, she’d ignored it completely and begun talking to him like he was just anyone else.

                Not like an assassin.

                Not like a monster.

                Not like a freak of nature.

                Like an ordinary man.

                “Jamie!” she called, waving her hand in front of his face.

                He flinched.

                She squeezed his hand. “You okay over there? You looked like you disappeared into your head again, dude. You’ve been doing that a lot tonight.”

                Damn, she’d noticed.

                “Everything alright? You need me to call JARVIS? He can send a car.”

                There she went again, easy and calm, accepting of what he was still pulling himself out of by the fingertips, but concerned and supportive all the same.

                “You’re incredible. You know that?”

                She blinked, not having expected this response. “I already know I’m awesome. But that’s not what I asked.”

                He laughed at the reply. “I’m fine. Just thinking.”

                She narrowed her eyes, studying his face. “ _Good, fun times_ thinking or _bad, icky times_ thinking?”

                The grin split his face. Damn it to Hell if he’d found his soul mate an entire lifetime later. “ _Good_ thinking.” She saw right through him—the super assassin. “Don’t worry; you won’t need the safe word.”

                She snorted, rolling her eyes. “I’ve never needed the safe word, you dork. Besides, I still don’t think I’d actually be able to pronounce it. You do know how much of a mouthful saying anything in Russian actually is?”

                _“Pa-spEE HA- ra-sho.”_

_“Pa-_ what _?!”_

_“Just repeat after me, Darcy. We’ll do it in two parts so it doesn’t actually knock me out.”_

_“Will this even still work? You’re better now.”_

_“Nothing is ever really_ forgotten _, Darce. Just repeat after me. It’s simple.”_

_“_ Why _?! So I can make you sleep like some kinda_ dog _? HYDRA_ bastards _. What’s it mean anyway?”_

_“Sleep well.”_

_“Figures.”_

                He’d coached her for an hour one afternoon, insistent that she know how to overpower him if he ever snapped, flashing back or waking up in a reverted mindset, and he had talked her through the phrase in Russian that would knock him out cold, allowing her to get away.

                He shook his head. “I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

                She rolled them again. “Hard not to when you look like you just swallowed a slug.”

                She’d said that that afternoon, too, after Tony had left, telling her, in no uncertain terms, to stay on the opposite side of the glass.

                But she’d shrugged after he’d left, and gone right through the door of the observation room, plunking down next to him at the lab table and setting her chin in her hand. “ _Nah, you’re all good now. Steve said you had your mind back. I trust him. He’s Captain America: he never lies_.”

                He’d just blinked at her.

                But she’d encouraged.

_“C’mon, dude, don’t you wanna talk to somebody other than_ Stark _? All he_ does _is talk, doesn’t even let you get a word in. Even Thor’s easier to get a rise out of on broody days. S’up,_ Winter Soldier _? Wow, are you_ cut _. Nice. What is it with all you dudes? Thor, Steve, you—you all go to the same gym? Well, can you talk or what? You look like you swallowed a slug or something.”_

                She’d especially been curious what someone who had known Steve before had to say about all his antics, hoping for something to use to blackmail him into helping her do some defensive training. In the end, _he’d_ done all that.

                That was much later.

                Four months, two dozen dates, numerous impromptu lunches, movie nights and board game gaffes later. After the tension had escalated and she said she was more than positive that he’d never hurt her, and that he just needed someone who hadn’t known him before and wouldn’t have any expectations. She was there, even when everyone else remained leery of him. She was always there, waiting in the lab with a cup of coffee and a smile. Just before he’d been cleared to join the team.

                She told him about the mess in London with Thor’s Dark Elves, and how desperate she was to learn defensive techniques, so she could avoid ‘looking like a total girl’ the next time some alien swooped in and everyone else, ‘went to kick ass’.

                He’d reluctantly agreed, still worried about hurting her, even after countless kisses and evenings spent making out that had only left him frustrated by hazy memories of other girls, war nurses, all capped off with his bionic arm—capable of hurting her so quickly, if he lost a moment’s concentration.

                But she’d insisted he’d be fine.

                The waiter returned with their wine, took their order and was gone again.

                “So what’s on the agenda tonight?” she needled.

                He smirked. “Dinner. Thought we’d walk around, look at the last of the Christmas lights. We’ll probably be able to enjoy the fireworks from the Tower.”

                She sighed. “I’m so jealous of that stupid penthouse Tony practically gave you. _So_ not fair. Big enough for half a dozen people at least. And I’m the babysitter— _since he needs one_ —and the jerkface keeps me in that little hole-in-the-wall.”

                He shrugged. “Part of the team, you get a loft, I guess.”

                She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re lucky you’re hot, dude.”

                He chuckled. “I get by.”

                She nodded wryly. “Yeah, you’re just lucky my bedroom’s big enough for the two of us or you wouldn’t be _getting_ anything, Barnes.”

                He laughed, the idea no longer making him shudder.

                Their first night together had happened in a rush of heat. It had been so long since he’d had a girl—at least, that he could _remember_ —that he hadn’t thought about her safety as much as he should’ve, hadn’t thought about how dangerous he might be in a _distracted_ mindset. He’d wanted to die afterwards. He’d lain there, watching her sleep all cuddled into his side, for an hour, before one glance at his metal arm had made him flinch. He’d yanked on his jeans and ditched, out, onto the balcony of his suite, staring out into the endless activity of the Manhattan night, brooding over all the things he’d been forced to do, all the people he’d killed, all the awful things he’d done.

                She’d finally come out to pull him back to bed, looking too tempting all wrapped in his bed sheet, and they’d talked, long, into the sunrise.

                She’d told him all about a past boyfriend who hadn’t made his temper a secret, and her flight from him and her reluctance to get seriously involved ever since.

                She’d told him that she inexplicably trusted him, had since the moment she’d seen him in that lab, and had wanted to earn his trust in return. She’d said she could tell, just by looking at him, that his hard, metal outer shell hid a kind and gentle man, and that his eyes told her everything. She’d said, over and over, that all he needed was a little patient repair, just like anyone else.

                And her trust in him had cleared some of the darkness from around the edges of his vision, and he found it easier to let go when they were pressed close at night, easier to trust himself and his own control.

                Easier to accept that all the cobwebs had been cleared from his warped mind and that he had _himself_ back. That none of the harsh conditioning he’d suffered remained.

                A sharp pain in his right palm had him lurching back in his seat.

                Darcy was fixing him with a sharp look, her nails digging into his hand. “You were doing it again, dude.”

                He flushed, shaking his hand loose as she released it. “Sorry.”

                Her gaze softened. “If this is too much, we can go back to the Tower. I’d be fine just ordering in some pizza and watching a movie or something. I’m determined to catch up on _Game of Thrones_ before Steve and Nat so I can lord the spoilers over their heads.” She smiled impishly. “You _know_ I would be okay with that. I’m a cheap date.” She winked.

                He sighed. “Darcy—”

                “You look tired. The nightmares have you up again last night?”

                He shook his head. “I’m fi—”

                But she cut him off with a smirk. “Barnes, you’re nearly as bad at lying as your buddy, _Captain Patriotic-Pants_ —which is saying something, considering you spent _decades_ neck deep in super-secret espionage.”

                He flushed, looking away.

                “If you were up, you should’a called me. That’s what girlfriends are for.”

                He shook his head again. No point denying it, the fact that he’d jerked awake at two am, covered in sweat, Russian commands still growling at the edge of his hearing. “You said you were out late with Jane. I didn’t want to wake you.”

                She rolled her eyes. “Oh, _please_. I was napping while she ran around like a chicken with her head cut off, getting sciency readings. Don’t even know why she wanted me there.” She shrugged. “I think she feels more like a _real girl_ if I’m there to back her up.”

                He smirked.

                “Or maybe she just wants my trusty taser around in case she decides to hit more Norse gods with her van. You never know.”

                Their food came and, mercifully, she let it drop. He really didn’t want to rehash the dreams again; they were just the same old awful things on repeat, an endless cycle of angry disembodied Russian, Zola’s nasty, soft voice, the whirring and whining of the electroshock machinery they’d used to bleach his brain so that they could reshape his conditioning.

                The worst one was _still_ Pierce’s face, that day, the first day that memories of Steve had truly begun seeping through. It all bled together.

                _Who the Hell’s Bucky?_

_Prep him._

_He’s been out of cryofreeze too long…_

_So?_

_Your work has been a gift to mankind._

_He’s unstable…Erratic._

Wipe _him!_

_You shaped the century…_

_Hello, Sergeant Barnes._

                Start over.

                He flinched, glancing up at Darcy, but she was happily eating, unscrewing the cap on the A1 bottle and dolloping steak sauce onto her plate.

                She deserved better.

                Most of the time, he couldn’t figure out what the hell she saw in him.

                Maybe she was one of those girls that were the opposite of the usual—they weren’t attracted to bright, shiny objects; they liked broken things.

                She didn’t bring it up again; he couldn’t decide if that was good or bad. She smiled at him as he picked up the check and she seemed content as they went to pay at the front, making sure to hang onto his metal arm, hard. “That was _awesome_. We should tell Wanda,” she chattered, but he was only half listening.

                He tried to focus, but as much as he hated it, he couldn’t bring himself to. He’d been trying hard all night not to look around, not to respond to the telltale prickling at the back of his neck.

                Dr. Rosen had been adamant about ignoring that impulse.

                But this…this was _different_. He’d felt sure, this time, that it was _more_ than just an errant impulse, a stray blip left over from his conditioning.

                Something felt off. And after years and years of that conditioning, even if he was using that condition and that sixth sense for someone else’s means…he knew when the feeling was a smokescreen and when it was real.

                “I haven’t had a good steak in _forever_. Probably a good thing. You’d be dating a pudgy girl.”

                “You’re beautiful,” he murmured.

                “Hah!” she laughed. “There’s that Brooklyn charm.”

                He grinned down at her as he handed his card to the host. “Yeah, I’ve been hidin’ it away. Only pull that out when I’m desperate.”

                She slid a hand up his chest, toying with the buttons on his sweater. “Yeah, next time you try that trick, you should pull that World War 2 uniform outta the mothballs and put it on- you might get stunning results. Just don’t forget the hat.” She laughed. “You don’t need to be desperate, Buck. I’m _easy_.” She winked. “Well, maybe just for you.”

                He frowned, trying to ignore the host, who was giving them an odd look. “A dame shouldn’t say stuff like that about herself. You’re perfect.”

                She blushed.

                “Just need you to sign here, sir.”

                He slid the receipt across the counter, studying the total so he could add the tip—

 

_Alley._

_West side._

_Or the girl goes._

 

                The breath halted in his throat as he stared down at the scrawled note, right there, in black ink. He had just enough wits to do a quick survey of the host.

                His pulse was erratic, jumping against his throat, his breathing uneven. His pupils were blown and he was short of breath. Fear. Middle man.

                He signed a tip and passed it back, smiling tightly at the man in reassurance, and settling a hand on the small of Darcy’s back, leading her stiffly through the crowd and out the door. He held it for her. “I need you to go back to the Tower,” he said, lowly.

                She jerked to a stop on the pavement. “What?”

                He pulled his Starkphone out of his back pocket. “I said that I need you to go back to the Tower.”

                She blinked. “Bucky, this isn’—”

                “I ain’t playin’ around, babe. I need you to go back to the Tower without me. I’m serious.”

                She leaned in close. “Jamie, sweetie, there’s no one here to attack us. You remember what Dr. Rosen said?”

                She was so damn patient and sweet.

                He shook his head. “Darce, I’m well past paranoia. This ain’t a drill. Someone was watching you in the restaurant. I need you to leave. I’m calling Steve.”

                She squeaked, her eyes widening as she took in his words, and she fumbled with her purse for a moment, digging around for something. “ _Me_? They were watching _me_? Why _me_? I’m a glorified Stark handler!”

                He grabbed her by her shoulders and got down in her face, trying to soften his gaze. “Focus, Darce. Can you do that for me?”

                She took a deep breath, looking into his eyes until she was level. He looked like the Winter Soldier again, capable of viciousness. She’d seen the footage—not that she’d ever tell him that. He probably already knew it anyway.

                He didn’t let her go as he dialed, and his metal arm was tight around her, a vice grip as he waited for the call to connect.

                She could hear the dial tone, his heart pounding at her back.

                _Hey, it’s Steve. If you’re someone, leave a message; if you’re anyone else, no comment_.

                Darcy would’ve laughed, if she weren’t so scared.

                “Shit,” Bucky murmured, hanging up and looking around, studying the buildings around them, eyes keen and sharp, ever the sniper. “You got your taser?”

                She dug around some more, finally pulled it out and nodded.

                “You gonna be able to use that thing?” he asked, eyeing her steadily, reading her.

                She stared at him flatly. “You remember I tased a Norse god, right?”

                He nodded. “You remember your training? You remember the quickest way to take down an opponent?”

                She nodded.

                “You got your phone?”

                She nodded.

                “Okay. Here’s what we’re gonna do. I need to go take care of this. So I need _you_ to go back to the Tower, okay? Straight back, no playin’ around. Call Jane. I want you to stay on the line with her all the way back, okay? Don’t talk, listen for anything suspicious, just leave the line open, okay?”

                “What about _you_?” she finally croaked.

                His eyes softened. “I been doin’ this for decades, doll. I’ll be fine.”

                But she shook her head. “The Hell I’m gonna leave you out here!”

                He smirked. “Don’t trust me?”

                She scoffed. “I’ve faced down Dark Elves from _space_ , Bucky! I’m not leaving you out here so those assholes can drag you back!”

                Something stung in his chest. “Darce, as swell as that is to hear, it’s not an option.”

                She opened her mouth to argue. “ _Hell_ , _no_!” she snapped back, nearly a whine, but he cut her off. “If you think I’m just gonna run away while some asshole roughs up my man—”

                He grabbed her and hauled her in, close, her warmth seeping into his body. “I can’t have you in the way, doll. They’ll mow down anyone in their way if it means they get their _asset_ back. I did their bidding for years and I know how they operate. Do you understand me?”

                “Buc—”

                “Don’t make me endure watching them kill you. I can’t. I…” There it was again, the urge, the awful, wonderful, powerful, urge to spill it all, all his feelings.

                And the Winter Soldier wasn’t supposed to _feel_ anything.

                He kissed her, and he made it count, just in case this got ugly.

                She mewled into his mouth.

                “I love you.”

                There. He’d said it. Now he couldn’t take it back. Steve would be proud.

                Her blue eyes widened behind her glasses.

                But he didn’t have time to wait for vindication. “Now go.” He gave her a firm push away, and she reluctant stumbled, heading down the block, turning her back as she pulled out her phone and dialed Jane, her taser gripped in her left hand.

                He watched her for a moment.

                She turned, once, to glare back at him, and he could see how pale she was, her eyes wide and probably more fearful than she’d ever admit.

                Taking a deep breath, he ducked into the opposite alleyway to pull off his coat, fold it as best he could, and leave it tucked on the ground for retrieval later. Then he pulled off his sweater, and left it there as well, so that he just stood in his white t-shirt. The cold didn’t bother him much anymore, as uncomfortable as it could be and he needed to be free to move, needed his only weapon free of confinement or snagging clothing. Sighing, he tossed his baseball cap on top and returned to the pavement, looking around as subtly as he could, pulling a hand through his shaggy hair. He’d need absolutely clear vision in all directions.

                There was one man situated on the roof of the building kitty-corner with a pair of binoculars and what looked like a sniper set-up.

                “Real subtle, boys,” he muttered, flexing his left hand, and the leather of his glove creaked. “Awfully confident, aren’t ya?” The metal of the false appendage clanked and the electronics squealed as he forced his fist to loosen again.

                “Here goes nothin’.” He turned into the alley.

                At first, he thought it was empty; for a split second, deep, thick dread stayed his feet and there was an urge to run back to Darcy in fear it’d all been a different sort of trap.

                But then a man in a bespoke suit materialized from the shadowed corner, smiling genially. “Ah, Mr. Barnes. We weren’t sure you’d show.”

                Russian.

_Fuck_.

He had gray hair and a silver goatee.

                Bucky was silent. It was pointless to ask how they’d found him. It had been no secret he’d been with Stark and the gang for the past year. It was pointless to make any premature threats or make any sudden movements. He’d have to see this through if he was ever going to be free of the Winter Soldier.

He met the man’s falsely friendly gaze with one he’d worn countless times, perhaps with more muscle memory than anything else. He was careful not to step too close to the center of the alley, lest he be boxed in. He’d need room to make a quick escape.

                “Yet…here you are.” The man smiled, spreading his arms as though in welcome.

                Bucky scowled. “Here I am.”

 


	2. On Your Mark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If I said "United We Stand, but Divided We Fall" that would be mean--right? Even if it's sorta true for this chapter? Don't worry. Things will smooth out. Later...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! Back with the next chapter! Our two lovebirds are separated now, so some silliness is coming. Darcy is her typical snarky self, Bucky's got a little angst--he's super pissed--and poor Jane is...very confused. Also, I'm not a New Yorker, so while I tried to do some research and keep everything up to snuff, forgive me if there's something not quite right.
> 
> And thank you all so, so much for the comments and kudos! Seriously! Oh, my God, it's so wonderful!
> 
> Without further ado...

“Wait, _seriously_?”

                Darcy rolled her eyes, hearing her boyfriend’s strict directions not to make idle chit-chat echo in her head. “ _No_ , Jane! I felt like going for a stroll _alone_ , in the dark, at eight at night, while my sexy, damaged boyfriend gets harangued back into service by his evil overlords. You know how whimsical I can be,” she drawled. “ _Yes_ , Jane! _Seriously_.”

                Metal clanked on Jane’s end as she set down whatever sciency thing she was working on. “Well…what are you supposed to do?”

                “I’m on my way to the Tower. I’ve got _strict_ instructions.” She rolled her eyes again. “And damn it to Hell, he was right, these were _not_ the right shoes for this. Him and his stupid spy logic.”

                “Well, do you want me to meet you in the lobby? Will JARVIS just let you in? How does this work, what does he expect you to do, just _wait_ for him?!”

                Jane had a talent for doing _anything_ _but_ soothing Darcy’s rapidly fraying nerves.

                She stopped on the pavement, looking around at the friends and couples passing her, on their way to the city’s hub for midnight. Suddenly, she couldn’t go another step. “I dunno.”

                “Darcy…?” Jane prompted.

                She bit her lip, glancing behind her. No secret operatives that she could _see_. But he’d always told her that only meant that the bad guys had five more she _couldn’t_. “He said he loved me, Jane.” Oh, God help her, it sounded like a petty whine.

                There was another clank and something beeped irritably as Jane gasped. “Oh, my God. He _did_?”

                Her throat was cramping and Darcy Lewis _did not cry_ , damn it. “Yeah. He kissed me and he begged to me go back without him and he said ‘I love you’.”

                “Oh, _wow_.”

                “What am I supposed to _do_ with that?!”

                “Well, did you say it back?”

                She stomped her foot, rolling her eyes again at her own girlish petulance. “He didn’t give me the chance! He shoved me away and made me promise to call you and keep the line open and go back to the Tower, and I’m about to drop my taser because my hands haven’t stopped sweating. Oh, God, is this worse than Dark Elves in Greenwich? Because _it feels worse than Dark Elves in Greenwich!_ ”

                _Don’t fall apart, Darcy, don’t fall apart. Keep it together_.

                “You didn’t say _anything_?!”

                She sighed. “That is _so_ not the point, Jane! What am I gonna _do_?!”

                “What do you _want_ to do?”

                “I _want_ to go back there and tase those guys in the _balls_ and I _want_ to go back in time and say it back, because what if something happens to him—”

                “He’s the _Winter Soldier_ , Darcy,” Jane interjected, but was promptly ignored.

                “And I want to go and help him because I thought we were sort of a team now, no matter how _useless_ and _mismatched_ I am with every single one of you and I still don’t know why I went and talked to him that day in the lab when it was probably _seriously_ stupid, and _holy shit_ , I never actually thought he’d get to a place where he’d be able to say _that_ to me, at least not so soon, and he’s doing so well, you should see him, if you ever left that _stupid_ lab, _Science Lady_ , and I was _totally_ okay with that!” she ranted.

                “I was _totally okay_ with being all unrequited, or whatever the _stupid_ word is, and I handled _Dark Elves in Greenwich_ , I am _so_ not going back to the Tower. HYDRA can _suck_ it!”

                Jane laughed. “ _That’s_ my girl!” she cheered. “So…what are you gonna do?”

                Darcy turned again, squinting back up the block in the dim winter evening. “I don’t actually know yet.”

                “You know he’d kill you with his creepy metal hand if he caught you going back there, right?”

                She shrugged, going for casual nonchalance. “Well, the idea is that he’s too distracted to _notice_ , right?”

                “Right.”

                “Okay. So how does one taser-toting brunette babysitter help her enhanced, super soldier ex-assassin boyfriend escape recapture by his creepy, evil, Nazi/Soviet supremacist overlords?”

                “…assuming he needs help,” Jane added.

                “Right.”

                “…This isn’t really my area of expertise, Darcy.”

                She turned fully to face the direction from which she’d come, taking a deep breath. “Okay. Training. How did he train me?”

                “He _trained_ you?”

                She waved a hand. “Of _course_ he trained me, a _little_. You think I could have a super soldier boyfriend who _wouldn’t_ wanna train me? You think I’d rather be the damsel in distress?! That’s lame! Of course, it took a little convincing, what with him worrying about his freaky arm. If he hadn’t, I was running out of ideas for ways to coerce him to take his damn clothes off.”

                The largest clunk yet banged across the line and Jane swore, a very un-Jane like thing for Jane to do. “You’ve _slept_ together?!”

                Darcy started stomping back down the street. “ _God_ , Jane, _focus_. I stopped asking for a pony sophomore year in high school. He’s hardly my first roll in the hay—though _definitely_ the _best_. He’d have me…he’d have me ask myself…what tools are at my disposal. Right? What have I got to work with?”

                Jane, still sounding flustered, paused. “Where _are_ you?”

                “Somewhere in Midtown. 53rd, maybe?”

                “Down in Hell’s Kitchen? Did you at least get to eat?”

                “The restaurant was all Wanda’s suggestion.”

                “He asked _Wanda_ for _advice_?!”

                “ _JANE. FOCUS_.”

                “Right, sorry. But Darcy?”

                “Yeah?”

                “We are going to have a long talk when you get back.”

                She rolled her eyes. “Yes, _MOM_. That’s _if_ I get back.”

 

               

                “Well, Winter Soldier, we have been looking for you for some time.”

                Bucky felt his lips pull back of their own accord. “Don’t call me that.” And he shrugged, trying for nonchalance. “And I’ve been around. Haven’t gone far.”

                The man in the bespoke gave a soft laugh. “You’ve found a new… _gig_ , as they say.”

                He nodded coolly. “Mm.”          

                “And do you enjoy it?”

                He smiled. “ _Immensely_.”

                “And your new girl. She is enjoyable as well?”

                He crossed his arms over his chest, not yet ready to admit to Darcy yet and risk opening those doors. “What do you want, old man?”

                He started pacing back and forth, like he was going to start pontificating, and Bucky—who’d seen this before—rolled his eyes. “Well. It came to my attention, after last year’s… _events_ …that you were never formally released from your contract.”

                He snorted. “Contract, hm?”

                “Why, yes.”

                “If you’re referring to HYDRA making me into a freak and forcing me to do their bidding, then I’m with you so far.”

                His brows shot up. “A _freak_? But, _look_ at you.” He gestured up and down Bucky’s body. “You are a most _magnificent_ specimen!”

                He snorted. “You sound like my girlfriend, only in a very uncomplimentary way. Now, _what do you want?_ ”

                For a moment, the old man stopped, narrowing his eyes, and studied him. “Well, since you were never formally released, I have been tasked with… _collecting_ the…”

                He cocked his head. “ _Asset?_ ” he snapped, the word making his whole body hitch. God, there would be no escaping this, would there? The bad guys would always be out there, and as long as they were, they’d never stop trying to bring him back into the fold. Like some machine that they could program.

                A thin, cold smile spread on the old man’s mouth. “Why, _yes_. I suppose you might use the terminology. It has worked for so long, why change it now, eh?”

                He leaned on the brick wall, anger coursing through him, and he could feel the nerves that worked his left arm firing, wanting the cybernetics to move. “Why don’t you run along old man? Or _hobble_. Whatever you want. I ain’t for sale. And I ain’t your man anymore. If you’re offering your services, maybe you wouldn’t mind removing this _disgusting_ Soviet star from my shoulder while you’re at it?”

                He frowned. “Oh, but come now! That is a sign of your loyal service in conjunction with our wonderful country, all in the name of HYDRA! Do you still remember how it goes, young man?”

                He sighed. “ _I wasn’t made to say it then, I sure as hell ain’t gonna say it now_. So don’t hold your breath. I haven’t _hailed_ anything since _1942_.” That day, he remembered, clear as crystal; finally tracking down Steve in a back alley, trying to go up against some goon or other. Really, it hadn’t been anything new. For some reason, that day—the day before his deployment—stuck there, solid. Trouble was, no matter how mired in fog everything from back there still was, he remembered and felt enough to know that he’d still do the same thing, if given the option. He’d still enlist. He’d still follow Steve with the Howling Commandos. None of that would change.

                Except, maybe he would’ve done a better job hanging onto that train rail in '44…

                He sighed, shaking his head. “But we have such good work for you,” he sighed, and Bucky was becoming well aware that his act was all a put-on. Which didn’t bode well.

                “I ain’t your fucking puppet. So scamper off and find someone else willing. There must be plenty of guys out there who’d appreciate the work, and that’s without any agreed upon script. You should put a call for open positions out there, you might be surprised at the response you get. Maybe if you offered a benefits package.”

                The old man laughed. “You’ve adapted well to this era, hm? That is good. We’ll need an operative well-versed in the ways of this period of history in the making. Nikolo!”

                A man—a very _large_ man—emerged from the shadows behind Bucky and stood there, poised. He had cropped dark hair, shaved close to his enormous head, broad shoulders and hands the size of flapjacks.

                Bucky sighed. “ _Really?_ ”

                But he was done playing his part, it seemed. “My name is Aleksander Lukin. I presume you’ve heard of me?”

                He eyed Nikolo. “Nope. Can’t say I remember you. You understand that things are a little fuzzy, right? Cryosleep is still just a theoretical possibility for the majority of the _non-evil_ scientific community, so I’m assuming that’s one of the side-effects you and your buddies didn’t really care to study at all.”

                He smiled thinly. “Indeed. Perhaps you remember my tutor, Karpov? I was his protégé.”

                He scowled. Vasily Karpov. _Yeah, him he remembered, alright_. This night just kept getting better and better.

                And all he’d wanted was to take his girlfriend on a casual dinner date. Nothing special. A little stroll through town, finally give her her Christmas gift, maybe she’d sleep over, fairly typical as far as dates went, no matter in the here and now, or back in forties. The only difference was that now people admitted that was what happened at the end of a serious date.

                He was frustrated by the fact that she always snuck out early, before sunrise. He couldn’t blame her at all—especially after _everything_ —for feeling awkward, skulking through the common rooms to the elevators that would take her down to street level and home, still in _last night’s clothes_. Admittedly, he felt a little tiny bit smug, yes. But mostly, he just wished she’d lie there with him just a little longer, be the warm body next to him, be the first thing he’d see when he opened his eyes. Hence, the damn key— _still in his pocket_. Was it _really_ so much to ask?!

                Ah, to be a normal twenty-something. It had been forever since he’d enjoyed more than a few sips of wine. He missed _beer_. He missed not having to worry his way through sex. Simple things. He could hear the doctor now: ‘Mr. Barnes. You know you’re supposed to avoid alcohol, even if it is just on special occasions. Now, a sip of wine is one thing, but you don’t want to put yourself in a position of vulnerability, do you?’

                Lukin waved a hand. “No matter. You will know me soon. I have been put forth to bring you back to your masters so that you may be utilized again. We have a long list of tasks we require you to complete.”

                Bucky gave a hard laugh. “Sorry, just—do you hear yourself?”

                Lukin scowled at him.

                “I mean, you’ve gotta admit, it’s pretty hilarious, you just stalking back and forth with your cane, just casually inviting a kid from Brooklyn to come and kill for you. Funny, then, that my answer is _no_. Fuck off, old man. I’m busy.”

                He cocked a brow, clearly becoming impatient. “Oh? With what, might I ask?”

                He snorted, ever watchful of Nikolo, who kept creeping closer. “Making friends with the good guys. See, they set me up with a _fantastic_ place. Huge. Great view of the city. Kinda hard to compete with that, don’t you think? I mean, fine. I’ll admit. Decades spent being frozen alive and treated to the finest shock therapy really does a guy good, but, really, it does get old after a while.”

                Lukin tipped his head back and eyed him down his long, thin nose. “So this is your final answer, then? _‘No’_?”

                Bucky shook his head, straightening and squaring his feet as imperceptibly as he could. “No, no. You missed the other part. What I said was, _‘Fuck off’_.”

                Lukin sighed, shrugging as if to say, ‘What a pity.’ Then he nodded. “Go ahead, Nikolo.”

                Nikolo stepped forward, into Bucky’s space, smirking at him, and Bucky turned to his eleven o’clock, not daring to take his reactions away from Lukin either. “C’mon, buddy, I don’t wanna hurt you.”

                His heart was pounding, squeezing and contracting in horror, and just like that, he was neck-deep again, awash in the free fall of combat. For a second, he was afraid he’d have a flashback. He hadn’t had one of those in…God, months and months.

                But Nikolo laughed, and made an obvious lunge. Bucky darted aside easily, still refusing to thank Zola’s memory for those awful experiments and the serum he’d slipped into his blood that had made him even more agile.

                He smiled tightly as the larger man caught himself up against the brick wall and snarled. “You’re pretty big, man, but all that means is that I’m faster.”

                He made an angry grab, but his fury distracted his concentration, and Bucky let him into his space in a fake-out and slammed his cybernetic elbow into his throat, knocking him back a good six feet, choking and clutching at his throat.

                “You should know, _Winter Soldier_ ,” Lukin called out, watching all this in a decidedly unconcerned manner. “I have men _all over_ this city. We have all been charged with tracking you down tonight. You picked a bad day for a date. Much like our time in SHIELD, you will have no idea who will be out for you. You’d better hope you can make it out alive, for if we cannot catch you, we will terminate you instead.”

                “Yeah, not the first time I’ve heard that. None of the other attempts worked, either.” Bucky eyed the sniper on the roof, doing quick math in his head, calling back his own experience with the distance rifle. He wouldn’t be able to get a good shot from his vantage point. The man was clearly an amateur; during The War, Bucky would _never_ have chosen such a spot. You wanted the higher ground, not a _front row seat_. If he could just…

                Nikolo still choking behind him, he took off at a sprint, hoping he’d have enough time to build up the momentum he’d need by the time he reached the back of the alley.

                He charged at Lukin, the winter wind biting at his face. The old man was surprisingly agile, but not as fluid as Bucky. He pulled the handle on his cane to reveal a long weapon of some sort. There was no blade, but as Bucky dodged his way around him, he thought he heard it crackle and zap in the frosty air—some sort of tasing stick.

                But it didn’t matter. He was already gone, throwing himself up on top of the garbage bin and hooking a foot into the top of the cyclone fence, dropping easily down on the other side silent as a cat, not stopping as Lukin called casually after him.

                “ _Dozens_ of men, boy! _Dozens and dozens of men!_ _Hail HYDRA_!”

 

                “Anything?”

                “No, not yet. _God_ , Jane, what were you expecting? The bad guys to just pop up, like, ‘Hi! We’re evil! Come arrest us now! You’re boyfriend’s right over here! We didn’t hurt him!’

                Jane sighed. “ _No_. Where are you?”

                Darcy ducked under an awning in a small, dim doorway. “I dunno. Some closed storefront a few down from the diner we were at. I already checked the alley. I didn’t see anyone. But it was _really_ dark, and you know how I am with horror movies, Jane. You know there was no frickin’ way I was marching down there like, ‘Hello? Is anyone there?’ That’s, like, _Horror Movie Rule #1_. Even _Buck_ got that one right away last time we were watching _Scream Queens_.”

                “Do you see anything, though? Anyone weird?”

                She sighed, did yet another sweep, and scowled. “No. This is so pointless, Jane, he’s a super soldier. He’s probably already back at the Tower—”

                “He’s not.”

                “Are you sure?”

                “JARVIS?”

                Darcy could hear the digital butler’s calm, soothing Queen’s English. “ _Sergeant Barnes has not yet returned. He left the premises at approximately 6:23 this evening. I have Sergeant Barnes electronic tracking chip on file, but the monitor on it has recently been disengaged. Apologies._ ”

                Darcy’s mouth dropped open at this information, part of her knowing that he’d been monitoring their conversation the entire time. “ _Shut off?_ Who _shut it off?!_ ” She’d known that Tony had embedded a tracking implant on him when he’d first arrived, just in case things got dicey.

                “ _It was Mr. Stark, Ms. Lewis, Saturday, December 25 th, at approximately 8:08 in the morning. I believe at the time, his words were, ‘Holidays are important, even for whack-jobs like Barnes.’_”

                Darcy growled, rolling her eyes. “Remind me to _kill_ Stark later, Jane. First he makes me his _babysitter_. He doesn’t _pay_ me. Now he’s lost my boyfriend—and _insulted_ him at the same time!”

                “ _The sentiment is noted, Ms. Lewis_ ,” JARVIS answered anyway.

                “God.” She ran a hand through her already tousled curls. “This is such a fucking disaster, Jane. Was it really so much to ask to have a nice night out? Really? I mean, a little food, maybe some fireworks, I even threw a change of clothes into my bag, Jane! I was thinking ahead!”

                Jane scoffed. “Ugh. I don’t wanna hear about this.”

                She rolled her eyes. “Oh, _God_ , what are you, _my mom_? I’m twenty-seven, Jane! I’m over the whole ‘ _wham-bam, thank you, ma’am’ bullshit_. I wanna put down roots. Why do you think I stay with Stark?”

                “Hey! I thought you were working for _me?!_ ”

                She shrugged. “Well, yeah, _duh_! But if I’m gonna be keeping Tony from blowing anything up in the lab at the same time, I think he outta be paying me! And I want one of those wicked apartments! Seriously! I’m so tired of doing the Walk of Shame—even _I_ have standards, Jane!”

                Jane snorted. “Yeah. Tony noticed that, by the way. Just giving you fair warning.”

                She blinked. “Wait— _what?_ ”

                She sighed. “He mentioned it the other night at dinner. He and Barton were laughing about you, quote, _making out like a bandit_.”

                She facepalmed. “Oh, _God_ …” she groaned. “This is not happening. _Tell me it’s not happening, Jane._ ”

                Jane chuckled. “Actually, it was pretty sweet. You could tell they were all concerned about both of you. And Thor didn’t get it, of course. And he _would_ not let it go. I had to explain to him, like, _three_ times what _walk of shame_ meant before we were done.”

                She sighed. “Well. At least it’s worth it.”

                Jane paused.

                “I can hear your little sciency brain turning the gears over in there, Jane. What?”

                She hesitated. “No, it’s just…is he… _okay_? I mean…you’re not…like… _scared_ , or anything, right? Because I feel like this is dangerous.”

                “ _Okay?_ Do you think I’d do the _Walk of Shame_ for just _anyone_? Jane, I think I _passed out_ the other night, _seriously_.”

                There was a distinct choking sound, followed by the small clinking of a glass hitting a counter.

                Darcy smirked, momentarily distracted. “Please, my _perfect_ Jane. You can’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about—it’s _Thor_ , for crying out loud.”

                There was another pause. “I’m…not sure what you mean.”

                Suddenly, there came the sound of hard, heavy footsteps on her right. “Yeah, Jane, that’s your story, and you’re sticking to it, I know.” She stepped forward to peek, and was almost bowled over by an absolute giant of a man, running full-tilt up the block. She yelped.

                “ _What was that?_ ”

                She blinked after him as he took the corner and was gone. “I dunno, this huge dude just about ran me over. He was _gigantor_ , dark hair, like some sorta B-movie Frankenstein’s monster.”

                “Nikolo!”

                She looked around again. An old man was scurrying up the block too, flailing his cane but not actually using it for its intended purpose.

                “He took the back alley! _Hurry!_ You’ve no idea how fast he is! He is Zola’s finest creation! A work of art!”

                Then he was gone.

                Darcy froze. “Shit.”

                Jane—she could tell—did the same. “What?”

                “ _I know that name_.”

                “What?” Something was shuffled around on her end. “ _What_ , Darcy?”

                Darcy was already stepping forward onto the pavement, eyes desperately scanning the street. Nothing. Just couples and gangs of friends moving toward Times Square, laughing, singing, taking part in drunk merrymaking. Her heart squeezed a little. They’d be home by now. All snuggled by the fire on the roof of the Tower, waiting for the show. She wouldn’t have pegged him for a snuggly guy, but once he’d relaxed about everything a little and learned to trust himself, he’d been all over her. Hand-holding, and arm draping and a hand in her back pocket. They’d sit and watch a movie and by the end of it, they were always in a complicated knot, burrowed under a blanket and laughing as they tried to disentangle.

                That had surprised her, too. She knew he had some form of serum in his blood, and so she’d expected him to be hot-blooded. But he’d told her that sometimes, there was absolutely nothing he could do to get warm. Even a hot shower was only a temporary fix. Other times, he said it didn’t bother him at all and he could go out shirtless in the winter.

                In her mind, she figured it had to be some hanger-on from all the cryofreezing he’d endured. Maybe it was just psychological. Either way, she couldn’t blame him. And it wasn’t like she was _complaining_ , having to _cuddle_ _up_ to him.

                “ _Zola_ …” she murmured, more to herself, her mind turning it over. “ _Zola_.”

                “What?” Jane asked, confused.

                Darcy knew that the whole thing had made Jane leery—had since the moment he’d set foot in the lab. It had taken her a good month to ease off of covertly finding reasons to follow them around when they were together, or—more obnoxiously—sic Thor on them. It had gotten pretty funny, though, fooling the earth-innocent God a few times and losing him in some rarely used, pitch dark lab room. She shook herself, and took off in the opposite direction, hoping to suss out what was going on without running into them again, huffing as she went. “Zola. The _rat bastard_.”

                “ _Who?_ ”

                “Man, what kinda scientist _are_ you? And you work for SHIELD? _For shame_.”

                Her eye roll was actually audible. “Not by choice.”

                “Oh, _please_.”

                “Who are you _talking_ about?”

                “Zola. _Arnim Zola_. Right hand _fucker_ to the _Red Skull_. You’ve heard of _him_ , right?!”

                A clank on Jane’s end. “Yep, _him_ I’ve heard of. What _about_ him?”

                “Well, he’s the one who…” _God damn it_ , there was no other word for it. “… _created_ Bucky.”

                A deafening crank that made Darcy flinch. “ _What?!_ ”

                She kept going, trying to keep her ankles stiff so she wouldn’t fall over in her heels. “Total _genius_ , _fucking_ monster. Experimented on Buck and the other guys in his regiment. That’s how…” She gasped for air. “That’s how he survived the fall off that train, he’d already had some form of serum in his blood. Anyway, after the Soviets recovered him, Zola _sawed_ _off_ his destroyed arm, put on the cybernetic one, fostered his amnesia, and _brainwashed_ him into service for HYDRA and the SSR.”

                There was a very long moment of silence as Darcy continued up the long block, nearly to the corner now. Finally, Jane spoke, sounding very sober. “Then they…brought him in and out of cryo whenever they needed him and…shocked him to compliance for every mission?”

Darcy thought she sounded vaguely guilty. “Yep.”

She hesitated. “I…I guess I…didn’t realize…”

                Something in her sparked as she rounded the corner, defensive of him. “What, you thought he was just some _reformed baddie?!_ ”

                “Well, hey! It’s not like Steve volunteers information about him!” she squawked in a weak attempt at self-defense.

                “Well, did you ever think to _ask_ , maybe figure he might want someone to talk to?! He and I have had _fantastic_ conversations, just sitting in front of a movie! I _love_ him! He’s like the big brother I always wanted—except he’s, you know, gorgeous.”

                Jane cleared her throat, sounding uncomfortable. “Well…I mean, I’m usually…”

                “Busy in the lab or _canoodling_ with your _Norse boy-toy_ , yeah, we know, hon.” She rounded the corner and took off. “Listen, I’ve gotta call you back after I finish this asthma attack, okay? Go contemplate your callousness. Bye.” She was joking, of course, but as she hit the red button and reached up to hold her pea coat closed, she couldn’t help a little twinge of righteousness. Jane had been on her and on her about what a bad idea it was to get involved with Bucky.

                Maybe now, it would be obvious to her why Darcy had never felt she’d had a choice.

 

                “Yeah, Buck?”

                Bucky pressed back into the brick wall, leaning over to catch his breath as he held his Starkphone to his ear. Yes, he had more stamina than the average Joe, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be winded or exhausted with the best of them. “Hey. Am I interrupting?”

                There was a long pause. “Actually… _yeah_. Tonight’s my night in with _Maria_.”

                He screwed up his face, gasping for air, keeping a sharp eye in the direction he’d come. “Oh, _shit_ , man, I’m sorry, I forgot.”

                “It’s cool. Figured if you were calling, it might be something important.”

                Sam had been the biggest surprise. He had a no-nonsense way about him, didn’t take any crap, but he’d turned around and been the most supportive. Maybe Darcy was right. He’d just needed people without any prior expectations or knowledge of the ghost stories that had surrounded his long, _long_ , bloody career. As much as he loved Steve, the worried, brotherly hope in his eyes when he asked how every session with Dr. Rosen or Stark had gone had gotten to be a little too much pressure.

                Sam never asked; just hung around very subtly, in case.

                Darcy was always warm and casual about it, not pushing when she could tell he’d shut down a little in his head.

                “Uh, yeah. You seen Darce?”

                Sam hesitated. “Thought she was with _you_ tonight, man. Weren’t you giving her a key?”

                He took a deep, steadying breath, and straightened. “Yeah, well…things got a little…hairy.”

                Again, there was a pause. “Do I _wanna_ know?”

                “Probably not.”

                “So…she’s supposed to be back here by now?”

                “Yeah, I told her to meet me there. I just wanna make sure she got back okay.”

                Sam’s footsteps as he crossed the room.

                “Hey, everything okay?” Maria’s voice in the background.

                “Yeah, yeah, fine, sweetie, just go open that wine, eh? I intend to get you _very_ drunk, Ms. Hill.”

                Bucky rolled his eyes. God, at least he and Darcy reigned it in a little around everyone else.

                Beeping. “Just lemme check the front entrance log.”

                But JARVIS cut in, oh so respectfully. “ _Ms. Lewis has not yet arrived._ ”

                Bucky could swear—no cryo in sight—that his heart froze. He stood there, not really seeing anything for a moment, likely looking like a damn fool. And, God, _why did the machine keep calling him ‘Sergeant’?!_ He hadn’t been a sergeant in seventy years.

                “You alright, Buck?” Sam sounded distinctly more concerned now. “S’up, man?”

                Turning off the panic, like he usually tried to do, he shook himself. “No, it’s fine. Uh, tell JARVIS thanks.”

                “ _I should alert you that Ms. Lewis is in search of you as well, Sergeant. She has been on the phone with Ms. Foster and sounded rather troubled when I informed her that Mr. Stark disengaged your tracking implant last week, Sir_.”

                He sighed, taking off at a rapid walk back up the block. “That’s my Darce.”

                Sam chuckled tightly.

                “How’s it going with Maria?”

                The chuckle became more pronounced. “Oh…it’s _going_.”

                “Yeah, well, at least that’s the case for some of us tonight.”

                JARVIS was back, ever helpful. “ _In the event of further communication with Ms. Lewis, is there a particular message you would like me to convey, Sergeant?_ ”

                He was going to have to instruct the damn program to call him something else. He growled. “Yeah. Tell her she’s _suckin’_ around for a _Court Martial_.”

 


	3. Skip The "Get Set", Just GO!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there's some set-up, some running, some climbing, some sexy flirting, and a very angry Winter Soldier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, guys, here's Chapter 3!! We're setting up the Wild Goose Chase, now--seriously, Capital Letters--and it turns out it's going to be harder than our antagonists thought to get home. Darcy's showing off her stubborn nature (and her snark), Bucky's seriously pissed off, and Sam and Maria lend a helping hand. Thank you all so, so much for the kudos and comments! Seriously, it's so, so awesome. I was worried that my writing was crap, but you all are so nice!
> 
> Enjoy!

Darcy rounded the corner and peered into the gloom of the alley.

                Nothing.

                God, she was _sure_ this was the west side of the alley of the diner from earlier, only this side of it hooked around the back.

                She sighed. “God damn it, Bucky.” Go into the alley and check for signs of a struggle? Don’t go into the alley and act like a smart, _normal_ chick who listened to her boyfriend’s advice, no matter how sexist it sounded in 2015?

                That was just the thing, though. Natasha complained sometimes—always affectionately, of course—that Steve’s chivalry drove her nuts. Always holding doors, always trying to do this or that, serving her and offering things in a constant stream of ‘ _man takes care of woman’_. Darcy had thought it was sweet, really, and it was clear she did, too, that her true resentment stemmed from the fact she still saw herself as an independent, highly trained spy, perfectly capable of not needing anyone.

                Obviously, she’d gotten over some of that, though.

                When Bucky had finally asked her out, it had belatedly occurred to her to worry about the same sort of thing. She’d always been good at taking care of herself, ever since she’d moved out of her father’s house in Jersey, had been determined to make her own way. That college internship had really seemed like the icing on the cake, even if it was _technically_ in the wrong field…But that ship sailed straight outta Puente Antiguo. And it was beside the point. She was exactly where she _needed_ to be, she knew that.

                But Bucky had surprised her. Perhaps due to the fact that he’d been in and out of consciousness and around—in some capacity—to witness— _also in only some capacity_ —the changing of the times, the shift in gender roles. He seemed to have an inherent understanding of when to be chivalrous and when to step back and let her do her thing.

                Of course, she knew she probably gave off a strong air of ‘ _don’t try your shit with me’_ wherever she went, but still, she was mildly impressed.

                He retained some of his old speech habits; the Brooklyn accent was faint and it only snuck up when he was anxious. He still used some vintage terms. She secretly loved when he called her ‘ _doll’_.

                But the first time they’d really ‘hung out’ after that first date, when things had settled into comfortable casualness and he’d offered to make her dinner, she’d been shocked that he’d offered her a _beer_ immediately after taking her coat, tossing an opened bottle her way. Back in the forties, that was so _not_ what women drank. And he’d _specifically_ gone out and gotten her a six pack—of her _favorite_ , not that she had any idea how he could’ve observed that without her noticing—even though he’d been avoiding alcohol as part of his recovery and couldn’t even touch it. Not that it would put a dent in his metabolism, anyway.

                He didn’t often bother to push in her chair for her, unless they were at a nicer place. But he always held the door. He offered his arm in a formal sort of escort fashion, but other times, he’d braid their fingers instead.

                When he kissed her that first time, she’d been impatient on their first date, wondering what the hell his problem was, but he didn’t ask permission or anything trite. And he wasn’t a gentleman _at all_ , and she knew that those old instincts had surfaced a little by his surprise—he’d _gone for it_. Like, _really_. Some of the sex Darcy had had was _not as intimate as their first kiss_.

                In hind sight, she probably should’ve realized then, already, that she was in trouble. He was like an addiction she couldn’t shake. A sexy, brooding, relentlessly satisfying lover that she had no intention of ever giving up.

                _Ever_.

                But really, all things considered, she could understand him slipping into that old mindset. Wanting to protect her by getting her out of the line of dodge, rather than face something with her as a team and trust that they’d both get out of it together, through shared knowledge. _The man protected the woman_. The idea did contain logic, locked up in the old laws of mankind’s evolution.

                A lot of girls would probably call him a misogynist and tell him to _fuck off, they could do it themselves_. She figured she should probably be pissed at him for implying that he had to protect her.

                But…she couldn’t find it in her.

                Of course, her training was nowhere near any definition of complete. He wanted to take it slow. He wanted to work with his own recovery. He wanted to ease himself into it as much as her.

                This told her that he still didn’t trust himself completely. But Hell—something like that, after what he’d endured, was going to be a long, slow process.

                But as she stood there, half in and half out, she knew she couldn’t go back. _Yes_ , he’d be angry with her for disobeying a direct order, or whatever it was. _Yes_ , he’d be terrified when he realized she had gone after him. _Yes_ , she was probably in over her head. But no, she wasn’t angry at him for any of this.

                But she had to see some part of this through. She had a sneaking suspicion that he felt like he had to hand himself over, that he was deserving of punishment. She knew he’d been shocked about the lack thereof so far, and she knew he was still holding his breath and waiting for someone to realize that he wasn’t in cuffs.

But this was SHIELD. If SHIELD wasn’t going to pursue punishment, no one else was, and even if they did, SHIELD was just another smokescreen in a long line of intelligence agencies at play in the States.

The guilt…it was a heavy thing for him to carry.

She’d woken so many countless times, in the middle of the night, to find him out on his balcony, lounge pants deliciously low on his hips, shoulders tense where he leaned over the railing, looking out at the bright city as it continued to bustle at all hours.

She’d watch him for a while, feeling a tug in her gut at those tense lines in his muscular back, wondering if there was a specific face that was keeping him awake or if he was simply restless after so long in relentless action. Or maybe so long spent in a forced state of sleep had left him an insomniac.

She never knew quite what to do for him. He had surprised her, really, in those matters as well. She knew he was going to be very leery about going to bed with her in any capacity. And once they’d gotten to that point in their relationship, they’d taken it slow. He was so worried about falling asleep with her, so worried that he’d wake from a nightmare and not know where he was, not know her at all, and that he was terrified of he might do to her.

She napped on his couch with him. Then she stayed the night, careful not to touch him. Then they’d worked their way up to snuggling close.

_Only then_ came the sex. And while at first he was restrained, she knew he held back, not only because of his arm, but the serum in his blood.

None of his worry had been necessary, really. She’d _expected_ him to work out some of his demons, at least to a degree. She’d _expected_ the confident womanizer to be…well, _confident_ and rough, and self-assured.

But he was so _gentle_. It wasn’t _sex_ , not at all, not in the traditional sense that Darcy had come into adulthood with. It was… _more_. She rolled her eyes at her own cheesy musings.

She hadn’t really expected _lovemaking_ from the _Winter Soldier_ , but that was what he’d given her.

Which had told her she was cherished long, long before he’d confirmed it with words.

He’d been sweet. And passionate. Tender. Well-learned, of course, but…

For a long time, afterward, they’d just looked at each other, quiet, and she’d combed his hair back from his face, surprised at the paradox of him.

And then he’d fled, out onto the balcony, leaving her to wake confused, in a cold bed.

_She never knew what to do for him, what to say_. So she figured maybe it was okay if she didn’t say anything, if maybe he didn’t _need_ her to, didn’t _want_ her to. So, every time, she wrapped her naked body in his bed sheet, went out, pressed a kiss to his back, and took his hand. She’d stand with him for a few minutes, let him get in what brooding he needed. Then she’d pull him back inside, make him lie down beside her, and they’d talk, until finally she was sure he was asleep.

She knew that the guilt ate away at him. She knew he’d likely _never_ be able to let that go, not that she could fault him for that, either.

But he hadn’t _knowingly_ done anything wrong. She was _determined_ to prove that to him. She was _determined_ to be there for him, rather than leaving him feeling like an island, not after everything he’d gone through, after such a long struggle to find his way back to himself. Which was why she was _here_ , damn it, staring into this creepy alley.

                _God_.

                Stay or go?

                In or out?

                Grumbling at her own sure stupidity, she crept down the alley, trying to toe along in her heels to avoid making noise. She pulled her phone out again and lit the flashlight so she could peer around. “I don’t know why I’m doing this,” she muttered out loud to herself in sing-song. “Buck’s gonna kill me. With his cybernetic arm. Then he’s gonna bring me back to life and _do it again_.” She bit her lip, sighing. “Like I’m gonna find something my professional spy of a boyfriend left behind. What would _that_ be?”

                “The mark of a very bad spy, I should think,” a voice answered her.

                She yelped, heart in her throat, as she straightened to note the three men—very _large_ men, really—that had converged on her in the back corner of the alley, trapping her against the cyclone fence. She swallowed. “Hi, guys. Fancy meeting you here.”

                They just stared back.

                “Uh…” she fumbled. “I, uh…thought I dropped something back here, earlier…” she offered, lamely.

                Still silent, the two nearest to her turned to the third, flanking them in a triangular pattern. She vaguely recognized him as the Frankenstein beast that had nearly flattened her only moments prior. “That’s her,” he said, in a clear, accented voice, pitched low and ominous.

                Maybe that part was Darcy’s imagination.

                They started closing in.

                Or maybe not.

                She considered using her taser, but knew she wouldn’t get anywhere with the other two—and that was if a bolt actually took _one_ of the goons down at all.

                “Take her. Lukin will be very glad to see her.

                Lukin. Sounded Russian. Russian was a good sign. She could work with this.

                God, Bucky was gonna _kill_ her— _hard_. But maybe—she felt her taser up against her ribs, in her bag—she could work this to their advantage.

                At the very least, if she played the damsel—which she nearly was, anyway, if she was being _honest_ —she might get out of this with some useful information. Or maybe she’d even find Bucky, get to the bottom of whatever the hell was going on.

                She pretended to struggle weakly as their meaty hands closed around her wrists, loosening the clasp on her necklace and throwing off petulant curses like a child as she thrashed, but ultimately let them drag her off, out of the alley, and left down the block.

                Her necklace hit the cracked pavement with a tiny, metallic, plink.

                Hopefully he was still in the habit of keeping one of his scary knives on him at all times, or she was _seriously_ _fucked_.

 

                “You’re _sure_ this is the last place her tracker pinged?” he asked, surveying the dark alley.

                “Yep, that’s it alright, those are the coordinates,” Maria answered matter-of-factly.

                He sighed. “Didn’t even know she _had_ a tracker implant.”

                Sam shouted from the background. “Yeah, man, Stark wouldn’t let it go after he found out you two were going at it. She finally relented just to get him to shut up.”

                Bucky paused in the street and rolled his eyes. “You know, I worry enough for all of us; I could do without everyone else trying to do it for me.”

                “Sorry, Buck,” Maria muttered, sounding a little abashed.

                “Think the only one _doesn’t_ worry is Darce.”

                Sam laughed, his voice nearer to the phone. “Yeah, man, your girl’s _fearless_.”

                “Gee, thanks, man, what a compliment.”

                “You’re welcome.”

                “Shut up, Sam. It’s not funny. He’s doing really well.”

                He sighed. “Not so much right now.”

                “She’ll be _fine_ ,” Maria insisted. “She’s resourceful. She’s gotta be, dealing with Thor all this time.”

                He turned again, surveying his surroundings. “Alright, well, thanks for the coordinates. I’ll let you guys get back to your… _whatever_ it is.”

                “ _Hey!_ ” Sam objected.

                But Maria laughed. “Okay. You call if you need anything else.”

                He hung up, nibbling at his lower lip.

                It was an alley. In fact, it was the _exact_ alley he’d darted down just about twenty minutes ago, before leading Lukin and Nikolo on a wild goose chase, finally losing them in a mercifully open door. He’d tried not to interrupt as he darted through the back kitchen of some hip restaurant, but he’d elicited numerous shrieks as he apologized, finally emerging into the large dining room. He’d ducked out waiting for them to be on him. But he’d been alone.

                Sighing and not liking the look of this, he proceeded into the shadows, letting them melt around him as he’d done so many times before.

                But there truly was no one there.

                _Except_ …

                His sharp eyes did another sweep, sure they’d seen something glimmer in the dim glow from a distant street lamp. He went over and knelt down on the damp, cracked pavement.

                Her necklace.

                His heart took off fresh.

                _Oh, God, her necklace_.

                Thin, silver chain, tiny star charm—with a red center.

                His Soviet star. How had he not noticed this before? Was it new?

                He swallowed and forced  himself to take a deep breath as he straightened, worry sharpening in his gut.

                He knew her, though. He knew she’d been fairly good in their training sessions. And she had her taser. Surely she would’ve used it.

                Of course, he was assuming she’d been set upon by only one man. More than that she’d have stood _no chance_ with. She wasn’t Natasha, after all.

                Surely, she’d left this here. For him to find. She had a sharp sense of perception, and a quick wit. If she hadn’t, he wouldn’t have been attracted to her so much to begin with. And the fact she talked a mile a minute only made that clearer, and also increased his affection.

                He pocketed the jewelry and jogged out to the mouth of the alley, looking up and down the block.

                Nothing.

                Taking a fifty/fifty shot, he took a left and went up to the corner, looking up the next block, and spied three large men—one with dark hair—and a rather small woman.

                _Bingo_.

                Just in time.

                Grinning like a shark, he darted a careful glance around, and followed them.

 

                “You know, at risk of sounding like a typical chick in an action movie trope, my boyfriend is so _not_ gonna be happy with you when he tracks us down,” Darcy ventured.

                One of the goons chuckled. “Good thing there are so many of us, then.”

                She laughed. “Oh, Lord, you think _that’ll_ save you? Your _ass is grass_.”

                “Shut up,” the leader said. “You are nothing more than bait.”

                “ _Also_ an action movie trope,” Darcy added. “You guys have _really_ got this covered, eh?”

                The big one gave her a shove. “I said, ‘ _shut up’_. You talk too much, _woman_.”

                She laughed again. “Yeah, he tells me that all the time, so it’s really not news to me.” Just the other night, in fact, the moon from outside making their shadows dance on his far wall. She’d commented that the cybernetic arm was sort of sexy and he’d told her to shut up—very affectionately, of course. She’d quickly acquiesced.

                They’d dragged her down two blocks, uptown and closer to the building Times Square action. “You guys _really_ wanna venture down here? I mean, it’s gonna be crowded. Lots of eyes to see you doing your evil deeds.”

                “Good thing we’ll be going inside, then.”

                She sighed. None of this was useful information. So far, all she had was a name. Lukin. She supposed that was good enough…much like that rule, though, if _some was good, more must be better_ , right? How could she wheedle more out of these idiots?

                “Why do you even want him, anyway? I mean, the brainwashing has worn off, he remembers _everything_.”

_Total lie_. There were still _huge_ gaps of missing time in his brain. It bothered him to _no end_. Once in a while, he’d jerk awake beside her, shaking. She’d usually come awake, alerted by his stirring, and sit up to find him _pacing_. He’d pace back and forth at the end of the bed, body in a frenetic fit of motion, his muscles rippling and working, his scowl fierce, _completely_ the Winter Solider, as some memory came back to him in bits and pieces. Sometimes he’d catch the tail of it; others it would dart out of reach and vanish.

Sometimes he’d stop and smile at what was surely some old joke, or ridiculous memory of Steve and their childhood.

Other times, he’d drift back over to his side of the bed, sinking down and sitting there, looking defeated, staring off into the dark shadowed corners of his room.

She’d sit forward and press a kiss to his bare shoulder, pulling him back, and he’d finally lie back down, his head in her lap; they’d remain that way, her brushing his hair back from his troubled face, anguish in his eyes.

And she never had to ask what he was remembering.

She’d heard Natasha repeating to Steve one day in the common kitchen, that he’d been credited with _over_ _two_ _dozen_ assassinations since the Cold War, let alone shooting her in Odessa some years back. She’d easily gotten over that; no big deal, right?

She always wondered what the real total was, wondered if it was higher, wondered if he even _knew_. She didn’t _dare_ ask.

By now, they’d dragged her another half block and taken another left, into yet another dark and dismal alley. There was a flood light gleaming down, illuminating the oil slicks in the puddles still left over from that morning’s rain, and a door at the back of one of the buildings they’d passed was propped open by a fairly large rock.

“Why does my master want him, you ask?” Frankenstein asked, cocking an eyebrow at her. “Stupid question for a stupid girl. What _else_ does one do with the world’s best assassin?”

She growled out a sigh again, glaring at him. “As we’ve _already established_ , your control over him has been _stripped_.”

He merely shrugged. “Technicality.”

She snorted. “So what you’re telling me is that you’re expecting a guy who _willingly_ enlisted in World War Two, arguably the _most_ patriotic war, like, _ever fought_ , to just shrug and go along like a loyal lapdog?”

He was silent.

She laughed. “You HYDRA people are _relentless_. It’s impressive, to a degree, I have to give you that. But I can tell you _right_ now— _no way_ is he going back there. He isn’t touching that with a ten foot pole, or however the saying goes. He’s best friends with _Captain Fucking America_ , guys. That makes him the _second_ most patriotic guy on the planet. Just, you know, in case you were wondering.”

“That, my dear, is where you come in,” another voice answered.

The goons that had half carried her there released her, and she shrugged out of their grip, rubbing at her wrists and arms for show. “ _Ooh_ , the creepy disembodied voice. We’ve covered all the tropes now, guys. We’re in the clear. Let your creativity _flow_!”

She was shoved roughly by one of the goons, and turned to glare at him.

“Ah. _Dimitri_!” An old man came through the propped doorway, scowling at Goon Number One. “Is that any way to treat a lady? She is our guest.” He smiled genially at her and looked her up and down. “Mm. I can see why he took to you, my dear. You are quite a stunning creature.” It was the old man from earlier, the flailing one.

She rolled her eyes. With girls like these on her chest, she’d heard everything under the sun. _And then some_. “Yeah, okay, I was wrong. We still had to cover the ‘dirty old man’ trope. That doesn’t fit with action movies, though, so we’ll have to tuck that away for further study.”

He cocked a brow and his gray goatee turned up as he smiled. “And you have fire in you. Even better.” He smoothed his dark, pinstriped bespoke suit and rested his cane against the brick wall before approaching her. He circled her once, waving off the goons to stand sentry at the mouth of the alley. Then he circled her again, before stopping in front of her. She raised her chin, determined not to let him intimidate her; she was _sort_ of a SHIELD agent, after all.

And she’d faced down Asgardian Destroyers and Dark Elves from _space_. This old dude wasn’t going to do it now.

He reached out to run a hand down her throat. “Such creamy skin, too. Beautiful thing.” He cocked his head. “Yes, it might be unoriginal, but if it isn’t broken, why fix it, hm? He will surely come for you, my pet.” He reached out to tug at the collar of her dress, but she reached up and swatted his hand away. “ _Don’t touch me_. And I’m not your pet.”

He cocked a brow again, giving her a skeptical look. “Oh, no?”

She narrowed her eyes. “Pretty sure. And you know what else I know?”

He smiled. “Do tell, pretty thing.”

“You’ve got about _five minutes. So kiss your life goodbye_.”

 

Moving like a cat, Bucky swung himself up, catching the foothold on the fire escape and flipping onto it with barely a _shing_ of the metal. He smiled. He still had it. Good thing he’d worn his Doc Marten’s. At least they were more durable than his Nike’s.

                Quickly and quietly, he climbed, moving stealthily, hoping no one would think to look out their apartment window and see him, not that he was even sure this building housed any residential quarters.

                ‘ _Residential quarters_ ’? Gee, listen to him, thinking in military terms again, like _seventy years_ hadn’t gone by. Good, he figured. Some things he didn’t mind sticking around or sprouting up where he’d forgotten he’d left them. As long as whatever stop he made took him on his way back to himself. He didn’t have any intention of making any wrong turns, nor did he have any intention of giving the wrong version of himself to Darcy.

                In moments, he’d made it to the top of the iron escape and he leveraged himself up to balance on the top rung, about ten feet short of the roof. No matter.

                He jumped, hooking the metal fingers of his left hand over the brick façade. The bionics whirred and whined as he easily lifted himself up to grab hold with his flesh hand and pull himself up onto the roof. He wasn’t to the other side yet, and already his serum-enhanced hearing was picking up voices.

                “You’re awfully confident in your lover, hm?” Lukin’s familiar voice purred.

                “Well, once you’ve seen the worst of someone and realized you still love them anyway, it’s a little hard to let go. All that faith would be wasted. But I’m sure you’d have no idea about that, right old man?” Darcy chided.

                Bucky crept across the flat roof, darting glances around at the darkening night, but there didn’t appear to be any more active snipers. He stole across like a shadow and peered over the edge.

                There, a few feet from the propped open door of the building, Lukin stood, staring appreciatively at Darcy. Darcy, arms crossed over her chest, stood facing him off, hip cocked in a stance he’d learned well. She was challenging him. She’d done the same with Bucky countless times.

                _“What…are you working on today?”_

_“Oh, Janey’s doing something with her Bifrost readings, I think. She’s determined to recreate the effect on our end, so us measly humans can travel to other realms, something currently only the Godly Asgardians get to do.”_

_“’Bifrost’?”_

_“Oh, yeah. You’ve read the notes on what happened in New Mexico, right? I know Steve’s smuggled the files out to you so you’d be able to catch up. Don’t think I haven’t figured that out.”_

_“I—”_

_“Don’t worry, super soldier. I hacked half those files myself just for work yesterday. I’m not gonna spill the beans. Are you better today? I know you had a migraine yesterday.”_

_“Fine. It’s…no big de—”_

_“No, it is a big deal.” She struck a pose, crossing her arms and sticking out her hip, frowning at him. “You’re a person too. The other self-righteous heroes around here would do well to remember that once in a while. You should’ve called me, I gave you my number two weeks ago, remember? I’d have brought you some Advil or something. Or some soup. I make a mean Chicken Noodle, cures anything and everything.”_

_He swallowed, nodding, feeling uncomfortable at the memory of his mother bringing him soup, so, so long ago. Something in him warmed at the connection to Darcy._

_She scowled. “You do that next time. Got it, soldier?”_

                And he'd nodded, bashful for the first time…he could remember.

                Bucky shook himself out of the memory as Lukin continued to speak. “The _worst_ , hm? I wonder if you have any idea what the _monster_ has done to _terrorize the village_.”

                Darcy snorted. “Nice try, with the humor thing, but you got something wrong. Sorta ruined the effect.”

                “Oh? And what was that?”

                She leaned forward. “ _He’s not a fucking monster_. And _everything_ he did, he did because he had _no other choice_. You _fuckers_ climbed inside his goddamn head and _programmed_ him like he was some kind of machine.”

                “He was _spectacular_ , that is true. We merely want to make him so again.”

                Bucky snorted. Like it was so easy and honorable.

                “He _already is_! As an _Avenger_. Sorry, but I think that trumps being forced to kill at least two dozen random jerks you didn’t like because they _pulled your hair on the playground_.”

                He jerked back, shock rippling through him.

                Of course. How he could’ve fooled himself into thinking otherwise, he wasn’t sure.

                Of course, she’d know how many men…he’d…

                He shut his eyes, trying to breathe, but his heart was pounding.

                _Oh, God, she knew, she really did_.

                “They were necessary deaths. He was created for just such tasks.”

                Darcy only snorted, shaking her head and looking away. “I already hate you and I don’t even know your name.”

                “Darcy Lewis, I am Aleksander Lukin. I have been tasked with retrieving our property and ensuring that it returns to… _functionality_.”

                He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting. But her laughter sure as hell wasn’t it. “ _Property_! Like he’s a dog!”

                “ _What is so funny?_ ” Lukin snarled.

                But Darcy quieted. “HYDRA. You _assholes_ are _hilarious_. Straight out of the comic books. Shadowy secret organization trying to conquer the world.”

                “We are _dedicated_ to—”

                “Yeah, yeah, I know, we’ve all heard this story before, blah, blah. Whatever. I’ve seen the footage. I was at HQ that day that Steve nearly drowned in the Potomac, _bucko_. If that’s your agenda, you can _suck it_. Maybe you should go back and watch it again. Because that outta be your proof that his conditioning is _broken_. It _snapped_ that day. _Hard_. You can thank Steve Rogers for that.”

                Again, Bucky’s heart jolted.

                God, she’d seen _everything_ , she’d seen it _all_.

                That day…on the causeway of that helicarrier.

                _I’m not gonna fight you, Bucky. You’re my friend._

_You’re my mission._

_Then finish it. Because I’m with you…till the end of the line._

                He swallowed, his throat closing.

                That moment, Steve beneath him, beaten to a bloody pulp.

                His fist raised for another ruthless blow.

                And a handful of words had broken down _seventy years_ worth of time into _nothing_. The past had all come _rushing_ in at him and he’d drowned, barely coming up for air in time to realize Steve had fallen.

                The irony; Steve falling, instead of him.

                Diving into the frigid waters of the Potomac and fishing him out, dragging him up onto shore and making sure he was still breathing.

                Sometimes, the nightmares pulled those shapes out of his subconscious too, showing him a replay before Darcy shook him awake, fretting that he’d been murmuring despairingly in his sleep.

                She was so… _good_ to him.

                And he hadn’t done anything to deserve it.

                Lukin chuckled. “Someday, I will. But until then…I think we’ve got a little treat set up for you in here. If you wouldn’t mind giving me your phone and following me…”

                Nikolo was back, shoving her forward, and Bucky could see her fearlessness shift and her body go rigid.

                “It won’t hurt too much,” Lukin soothed, stepping toward the doorway. “You understand, we need _leverage_ —”

                Bucky was moving before he even thought.

 

                _Oh, God_ , they were going to torture her. How on earth had she not thought of that?

Well, if she was being honest, she hadn’t really thought that far in advance—and _where was Bucky_? Wasn’t he supposed to be here by now? What good was having a super soldier boyfriend if he couldn’t _get you out of jamb once in a while_?!

                Nikolo was shoving hard at her back, but she dug in her heels, fumbling for her purse, sure that her taser was dumped somewhere in the small expanse of her black Michael Kors. She’d been itching to use it again since she’d watched Thor tip over like a tree trunk.

                “You understand, we need _leverage_ —” Lukin was saying softly, but then—

He’d stopped.

                Darcy looked up, her heart in her throat.

                But Lukin wasn’t looking at her; he was staring _past_ her, over her left shoulder.

                She was able to twist around just in time to see Goon Number Two, his eyes glazing over in stupid confusion, tip forward and crash to the pavement, a black knife jutting from the back of his skull.

                She couldn’t stop the surprised yelp from leaving her throat, but it didn’t actually matter, anyway, because almost immediately, Goon Number Three did the same, exact thing.

                Lukin froze, eyes darting around, but the alley was silent.

                Then he smiled. “Come out, come out, _sin_ ,” he called, eyes dancing.

                Nothing. The wind whistled a little in the narrow alcove.

                Darcy felt a shudder run up her spine and couldn’t decide if it was fear at truly seeing the Winter Soldier in action, or if she was turned on by his deadly stealth. The silence. That really drove it home, offered an element of creepy.

                Nikolo took a step back from her, muttering something under his breath, but she couldn’t make it out.

                “You know, _sin_ , it would only take a few short words to make you see reason!” Lukin taunted, his expression breezy and gleeful.

                Darcy’s hand closed around her taser and she drew it out, waiting for just the right moment. _Oh, God, she wanted to nuke the bastard_.

                Lukin grinned. “ _Pa-spEE_ —”

                She hit the trigger. The bolt shot out of the gun and arced between them, hooking him in his stupid suit and dropping him hard to the pavement. He squirmed, shaking and shuddering in stunned silence, his nose bleeding from where he’d likely smacked it against the busted cement.

                “ _Oh_!” she crowed, pumping a fist in the air. “ _Schooled_ , asshole!”

                Nikolo grabbed her round the middle, snarling.

                But she was high on adrenaline, and shot back her arm to elbow him in the gut, simultaneously leveraging her heel to scrape it down his shin.

                He yelped, flailing back and took her with him. She went down on her ass, gasping out a half-laugh as she landed, sprawled.

                Before she could pick herself up, there was a heavy flutter, a thud, and silence. She twisted.

                Bucky stood behind her, glaring down at Nikolo’s still form.

                He looked glorious, like some kind of _avenging_ _angel_ , his hair in delicious tousle and the dim light from the doorway casting handsome shadows across his hard body and scruffy face.

                He looked up at her, and his eyes were dark, brows drawn together in intense concentration, and he reminded her of the footage she’d seen of some of the fight he’d had with Steve under that freeway overpass. But he could never scare her; not in any way close to what he truly feared. She’d seen too much. And she trusted him.

                He barely looked winded.

                She burst out laughing. “ _That was so fucking awesome_!” She pumped her fist in the air again, but he caught her round the wrist and hauled her none too gently to standing. “I’m looking up more footage when we get home, Buck. I gotta see more of you in action. That was the _sexiest_ thing I’ve ever seen—and I didn’t even really _see_ anything!”

                Looking pained, he took survey of her body, but didn’t speak. He brushed off her butt with his large hand and studied her palms, slightly scratched and raw from her rough landing. He smoothed his big thumbs over her right, a tender frown softening his face, as though he was disappointed she’d come to even the most superficial harm.

                Then he leveled her with a glare.

                She wondered if he had reverted to his previous days of near muteness. “I know. I’m in trouble,” she stated.

                His mouth twisted wryly.

                “ _Sorry_?” she tried, shrugging. “ _Hey_! If I hadn’t been a stubborn jerk, you’d be snoring right now and they’d be _dragging your ass_ somewhere creepy!” She pointed toward the doorway.

                Lukin continued to squirm beside them.

                Bucky retrieved the gun from the ground and disengaged the spent bolt, tucking the gun into the back of his pants, his eyes darting around in constant watchfulness.

                Darcy regained her breath. “Can I…offer a ‘ _thank you for rescuing me’_ kiss?” she needled again, trying for innocence.

                But someone had come to the lit doorway, curious at the commotion. There was pointing, backpedalling and shouting in Russian.

                Bucky grabbed up her hand, already backing up.

                “Should I try for another ‘ _sorry’_?” Darcy offered.

                He sighed, tugging her along. “Shut up, Darce.”


	4. Passing the Baton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is some bickering, A LOT of fluff (I'll be honest. Sorry--not sorry) and some more running around. Oh, and a taxi ride from Hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So glad you guys are enjoying this! It's so wonderful to read all your lovely comments! I feel like I've gained more friends! Here's the next chap. Enjoy! Lemme know how I'm doin'. :)

He practically dragged her along after him at a brutal pace, though Darcy noticed he used his right hand, perhaps knowing he’d squeeze her too hard otherwise. They melted into the growing Manhattan crowd and for once, she was glad of the bustle.

                She glanced back once, and spotted a few heads popping up amidst the crowd, searching them out as they weaved in and out of the people.

                He tugged her harder. “ _Don’t turn around_.”

                Finally, after four blocks, she could barely keep up with his long, powerful legs anymore.

                She stumbled into him. “Buck. _Bucky_ —I’ve got short legs, Buck!”

                He tugged her hand and jerked her into him, turning to catch her as they rounded a corner into another alleyway. But he surprised her, pushing her back into the building’s façade and pressing a reckless kiss to her mouth.

She mewled, getting up on tip toes to kiss him back, his desperation contagious.

But he yanked away. “ _I told you to go back to the Tower_!” he whisper-yelled, looking frantically around, eyes darting across every rooftop in their immediate area. “Do you have _any_ idea what they would’ve done to you?!”

                She sighed, crumpling a little. “Sorry. But they were gonna _take_ you! I wasn’t about to _let_ them just _take_ you!”

                He rolled his eyes. “Darcy, I’ve been doing this—in some capacity—for _seventy_ _years_! I’m more than capable of lookin’ out for myself!”

                “But haven’t we established that you think that safe word would still work on you?! Clearly that creepy old dude was just gonna track you down until he cornered you long enough to say it. No matter how long it took!”

                He sighed. “I would’ve figured it out.”

                “They would’ve put you in that freaky chair! They would’ve put you _right back there_ again!”

                He paused, his expression changing. “You’ve…seen that footage?”

                She stopped, looking up at him, suddenly uncertain at the vulnerability in his eyes. That was something she didn’t see much of with him—vulnerability. After everything he’d been through, it was something he worked hard to hide. “Where Pierce slapped you, and…you asked about Steve?” She shrugged, looking away. “Of course I’ve seen it. I’ve…seen all of it, I think.”

                He took what she thought was an involuntary step back from her.

                She shrugged again, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “Your girlfriend’s a hacker.”

                He just stared down at her for a long moment, looking lost and bereft. “I…I suppose I figured you had,” he murmured, his voice rough. “I just…”

                “You thought it would change things?”

                His only answer was to look away, up the street, his hands sliding into his pockets, and he hunched in on himself a little, as though trying to look smaller and less conspicuous.

                At five-foot-eleven, he wasn’t huge, but his presence could be… _large_.

                “Hey.” She reached up to cup his face, bringing his gaze back down to her. “It doesn’t change anything. All it does is make me hate HYDRA even more. Which I didn’t think was possible, but what a _bunch of little bitches_.”

                He smirked.

                She gave him an impish look. “If the arm wasn’t enough to scare me off, a few videos of you not looking like yourself weren’t gonna do it.”

                “Funny,” he murmured. “I thought it looked like me in every frame.”

                Her eyes softened, and she shook her head. “No, baby. No, it didn’t.”

                He watched the street carefully, until one, two, three rough looking men, bobbing to see over the crowd, had rushed past. The moment snapped. Sighing, he took her hand, clasped in his warm, flesh one, and pulled her along. “C’mon.” He pulled her into the crowd. “Natasha’s probably already told you this, but the first rule of going on the run is ‘don’t run—‘”

                “’walk’,” Darcy finished. “Yeah, I know.”

                He cocked a brow.

                “Ugh, you were right, you _jerk_. These are _not_ the right shoes for this,” she grumbled.

                He smirked. “I tried to tell you.”             

                She reached up to give his head a shove, and he laughed, his hair in disarray. “Shut up, Barnes.”

                He readjusted his grip on her hand, braiding their fingers.

                “How are you not cold?!”

                He shrugged. “I am.”

                “You _are?!_ ”

                Another shrug. “I’m _always_ cold. I just deal with it. I don’t think that’s ever gonna change.”

                She stopped in the middle of the street and someone behind her squawked as they hurried around her, glaring as they passed. “Wait—your coat and everything!”

                “Took it off. Hinders the arm too much.”

                She turned. “Well, let’s go and—”

                He grabbed her. “ _Later_. Not tonight.”

                She sighed. “We’re pretty far from the Tower.”

                “Well, if you’d gone back there like I asked you to, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

                She gasped, though she wasn’t really angry. “ _Hey_! I just saved your butt, Barnes! And I don’t even have a shield!”

                He laughed. “I’ve lifted that shield. You wouldn’t be able to do much with it, Darce. It’s heavier than it looks.”

                She narrowed her eyes playfully. “You calling me weak, Barnes?”

                He rolled his eyes, but his mouth was turned up in a smirk. “I think I preferred _Jamie_.”

                “ _Really_?” That was surprising. “Actually, I figured you probably didn’t like that, it just comes out sometimes.”

                He got a faraway sort of look in his eyes. “No one’s called me anything like that in…a long time. And _Barnes_ …reminds me too much of The War.”

                “What was that thing Lukin kept calling you? _Sin_? Was it Russian?”

                His face turned grim. “He called me his son, yeah. Never met the bastard in my life—well.” He snorted bitterly. “Not that I can _remember_ , anyway.”

                She opened her mouth—

                “ _HEY_!”

                They both jumped, spinning around in search of the voice.

                Across the street, the three men were there, gesturing and stepping into the gutter, darting between the snarls of traffic.

                “Damn it,” Bucky muttered and they took off down the street again, darting in and out of the crowds, apologizing when they jostled or bumped. They rushed along, and Darcy was careful not to turn around anymore, even as he pulled her without warning around a corner and down yet another alley.

                She yelped in surprise.

                He rushed to the back of the alley, where a cyclone fence blocked the exit around the block. “Up and over, doll.”

                She jerked to a stop. “Are you _serious_?! I’m in a _dress_! And _heels_!”

                But his hands slipped around her hips and he hauled her up, forcing her to hook a foot into the framework. “ _Up and over_ , Darcy.” He set a hand to her ass and boosted.

                She squealed in surprise. “ _Hands_ , Barnes!”

                He chuckled. “Yeah, you’re used to it—just be glad it’s not my left.” He helped her climb until she reached the top, then he went up and over on his own, dropping down lithely on the other side, easy and silent. “C’mon, babe.”

                “I _hate_ you,” she soundly declared, hanging there and glaring at him.

                “There!”

                Their trio of pursuers had reached the alley and spotted them.

                “Now would be a good time, Darcy,” Bucky suggested, his expression tightening.

                The three men careened down the short alley, faces set in determination.

                “I ain’t coming to your rescue a second time, doll!” he snarled, an empty threat.

                Darcy struggled up the last few rungs and teetered there at the top. “Oh, God, now what?”

                “ _Up and over_ , Darce!”

                “I’m gonna _fall_!”

                “No, you’re not. I’m gonna catch you!”

                “Buck—”

                “Do you trust me?”

                Squealing softly, she worked her leg over the top of the fence, eyeing their pursuers, who were shouting in rapid Russian.

                “Don’t look at _them_ , look at _me_!”

                She turned, finally pulling her other foot free, just in time to swing it over, narrowly missing being grabbed by one of the goons. She gasped, her first foot twisting and catching in a rung, and she tipped back into empty air—

                And Bucky was there, one hand at her back, the other at her ankle, gently working her foot free with his metal fingers. When it became apparent they didn’t have time and that the heel was stuck, he tugged at the fence and his arm whined, the fence ripping as he tore at it.

                The three goons shouted, first at them, then at each other, and though Darcy didn’t know any Russian, she knew it was bad when they all turned and booked it back out of the alley, still in pursuit.

                She caught herself up against him, feeling stupid, but alive—and in his arms, which was infinitely preferable to one of the goons. “No more fence climbing.”

                “Yeah, we’ll see about that. C’mon, we gotta get outta here.”

                “Damn you and your acrobatics, Winter Soldier!”

                He frowned. “You are the only person who gets away with calling me that.”

                “How many of them are there?” she asked breathlessly, sounding put out as they emptied back out onto the street.

                “Dunno.” He pulled his metal hand through his hair, his eyes a little manic in the streetlight’s glow. “Lukin said he’s got men all over the city. Apparently there was a general call for HYDRA to take me out tonight.”

                “ _WHAT_?!” She rounded on him. “ _You didn’t think to mention that earlier_?!”

                “Yeah, I was a little busy _rescuing my girlfriend_! Remember when I told you to go back to the Tower?”

                “I think we’ve already established that I saved your butt!”

                He growled, looking up and down the block as though analyzing which way he thought would be safest. “Darcy, I already told you, I’ve been doing this for decades. As _stupid_ as that is to say. I’d have been able to weasel my way out. You don’t think I’ve gotten through all these years without the ability to think on my feet?!”

                She stopped, still panting for breath. “Is this our first fight?”

                But he grabbed up her hand again. “It’ll be our _only_ fight if we don’t get off the street. And this isn’t fighting, this is _bickering_. Trust me. I grew up with Rogers.”

                “Let’s just hail a cab,” she suggested, hearing her own growing exhaustion in her voice.

                He shook his head. “Nope. No cabs. It’s becoming apparent to me that what the doc calls ‘ _paranoia’_ , I call ‘ _a foregone conclusion’_.”

                She rolled her eyes. “Buck, I am not walking all the way uptown in three-inch pumps. I am hailing a cab. If you wanna come, great, you can get handsy in the backseat all you want. Half the reason I wore a dress, if I’m being honest. Was hoping that might happen on your _couch_ , but I’ll take what I can get. If you’re not coming, I’ll see you back home—don’t get blown up or kidnapped. I will be _very_ upset with you.” She stepped to the curb and stuck out her hand.

Good luck finding one on New Year’s Eve, but maybe her success could be attributed to good timing and the shortness of her skirt. A yellow car pulled up right on cue. She turned, eyed her boyfriend, standing on the sidewalk, his white t-shirt glowing in the dark and outlining his magnificent torso, hands deep in his pockets. “You comin’, Soldier Boy?”

                His face quirked somewhere between humor at the affectionate term and grumpiness at her not giving him much choice, and he climbed in after her, his good hand settling warmly around her upper thigh as he shut the door. He told the driver where they were headed and they were off.

                The radio was still crooning soft Christmas music and she tried to ignore the image awash in her mind of ‘ _chestnuts and open fires’_. Ugh, she was _freezing_. She did her best to focus on the warmth of his human hand, just there, actually a little too high for comfort on her thigh. It was distracting, and he kept squeezing and kneading as though trying to comfort her subconsciously.

                “ _Buck_ —” she began, her voice rough with heat.

                “Tell me the truth,” he suddenly spoke, his voice low. “Did you come after me because you were genuinely worried or because you felt some misplaced need to prove yourself?”

                She just stared at him for a minute. Then she surprised him, when she immediately swatted him on his good shoulder. “You _jerk_! I went after you because you didn’t even give me a chance to say it back!” She smacked him again, her face drawn.

                He frowned, not even reacting to her surely weak onslaught. “Say what?”

                “That I _love_ you!” She was breathless as she stared up at him exasperatedly. “I didn’t wanna say it when I realized it, because you were really struggling and I didn’t wanna put any pressure on you. And I wasn’t sure if you were capable of _feeling_ something like that—not that you were _emotionless_ —but because you were so _damaged_ and _shattered_ and I didn’t expect you to be ready for something like that so _soon_ , and so I kept my mouth shut, and I was totally _okay_ with that. But then you went and _said_ it—in the _middle of the sidewalk_ before _shoving me away_ , and you didn’t let me say it back! And I am _totally_ rambling.” She frowned. “I love you, too. I love you. I have for the past three months.”

                Blinking, his brain stuck in neutral, his head jerked back in surprise. “You _have_?”

                She growled, shaking her head. “Ugh, God, the next HYDRA _asshole_ I meet is getting my fist in his face for the serious _mind_ _fuck_ they did on you. _Seventy_ _years_?! We’re stealing that shock chair and kidnapping one of them! That’s the plan! I like that plan! We’re gonna tell Tony if we ever get out of this alive, and I’m sure he’ll go along with it—he might even _build us one_ —because you’ve gotta know by now he’s over you killing his parents, because, _hello_?! You didn’t really kill them—some dick made you do it. Yes! _Yes_ , Bucky, _I love you_! Is that so hard to believe?! Why else do you think I stick around?!”

                But Bucky had caught the eye of the cabbie in the rearview mirror.

                Ice shivered down his spine at the sharpness in the man’s gaze, full of intent.

                Paranoia?

                Or a foregone conclusion?

                He looked down at his door. No manual controls. And the plunger was down. They were locked in.

                _You picked a bad night for a date!_

_Dozens and dozens of men, boy!_

                “Are you even _listening_?!”

                He turned and met her gaze, hoping his intent was clear as he squeezed her thigh, tight, tighter, too tight and—

                “ _Ow!_ —God damn it, Buck, that’s not even your metal ha— _Oh_.” Her eyes darted between him and the driver.

                “ _My propustili vas , soldat_ ,” he said, his eyes cold in the mirror.

                Before either of them could react, he’d twisted the wheel and jumped the curb, narrowly missing the people on the edges of the crowd, who screamed, throwing themselves out of the way.

                Bucky was already in motion, reaching forward, at the same time as Darcy, to wrench the wheel away.

                The car careened half through traffic and half through people, narrowly missing parked cars and pedestrians by inches as they three of them struggled.

                “ _Give_ me—the _wheel_ —you _asshole_!” Darcy ground out as she fought her way past his arm, thrown out to block her.

                They were jostled and thrown as the car went speeding up the block, rapidly approaching a packed red light.

                Bucky tried to get his hand around his throat, but was finding it difficult; the driver had pulled a knife out and while he couldn’t manage to get it in his other hand to use against Darcy, he did succeed in jamming it into the segments of Bucky’s arm and it was clicking and whirring in confusion.

                This wasn’t going to work. Someone would die. More than just _one_ someone.

                They slammed into a parked car and were thrown hard against the seats.

                Darcy gasped, then growled in frustration.

                The tires screamed against the pavement as the car bucked against the left bumper of the Escalade they’d crashed into, finally peeling off and leaving skid marks as the agent wrenched the wheel.

                They sped off up the block again, sending pedestrians lurching for cover.

                He glanced at his door, thinking furiously and turned to look over his shoulder as the driver dislodged the blade. It was a one-way and they were on the left curb, the sidewalk right there…

                He could use his arm to brace them; it was practically indestructible. Only something like Steve’s vibranium shield had managed to damage it in all the years he’d had it. He just wasn’t sure Darcy would come out as unscathed. She didn’t have any serum in her blood, after all.

                The taxi jerked again.

                Then again, her being injured in this damn taxi was a surer certainty.

                He grabbed her and pulled her roughly into his right side. “Hold on,” he said, low in her ear. “Put your arms around me and don’t let go for _anything_.”

                She wrapped her arms around him, not questioning whatever plan she figured he had.

                He shoved them in tight against his side of the car and pushed against the taxi door, gritting his teeth and scowling in concentration. The plastic interior cracked and crunched. The metal workings of the door squealed, putting up a fight.

                Without much warning, the door gave, wrenched off its hinges in an angry snarl of twisted metal, and they rode it down to the pavement, landing hard on Bucky’s arm as the door crunched around their shape. The impact shook up into his shoulder, but his collar bone seemed to absorb it with little effort.

                She sprawled atop him, gasping as his elbow dug into her ribs.

                Numerous people on the sidewalk screamed; many stopped to stare, their eyes locked on Bucky’s metal arm. Some even looked like they recognized it.

                The taxi careened up the block before regaining control; then it took a left, and was gone.

                He turned over, his original arm snaking around to cradle her in his embrace. “Are you alright?” he gasped, anxious.

                Breathless, she nodded, though her side was smarting a little.

                He tipped his forehead forward to press it to hers, just as breathless. “I love you.”

                She sat up and let him out from under her, sprawling back in the gutter. Then she burst out laughing, fist pumping the air again. “That was… _fucking awesome_!” She sighed deeply, staring at him, her eyes wide and bright. “I have the most _badass_ boyfriend on the planet.”

                He was too anxious to react, too shocked at the whole thing.

                “That trick with the door! _Oh, my God_ , how did you know that would _work_?!?”

                He cocked a brow. “Saw someone do it, once,” he said wryly. Apparently, _that_ part of it hadn’t made the footage…

                “ _Wow_!” she gasped, finally wobbling to her feet without him. Then she seemed to catch herself, and looked down at him with concern. “Are you okay?” She knelt beside him.

                He nodded, swallowing against his dry throat. “No more taxis.”

                Sobering, she smirked, reaching up to brush his hair out of his face. “Agreed.”

                He stood, wincing at his smarting hip. “How many blocks did that cut off?”

                She looked around, shrugging. “I dunno. Four?”

                He sighed, trying to ignore the stares they were still getting. “C’mon, then. Let’s go. We’ve got a while yet before we get back. It’s getting late. And cold.”

                “Hey! Isn’t that that guy?” someone in the crowd said to their companion.

                “ _What_ guy?”

                “You know, _that guy_. In the footage that SHIELD dropped last year. With the metal arm. Didn’t he fight Captain America?”

                “…Dude, that’s _so_ not him. There’s not really a dude out there with a metal arm, man. That’s, like, science fiction. He’s totally just some cosplay freak. Is there a convention in town this weekend?”

                Darcy snorted, letting him wrap his arm around her waist and pull her tight against his side.

                They began hobbling slightly up the block.

                “Are you okay, Jamie?” she asked again, her voice soft and low, with a tender edge. “You and Steve, you’re incredible, but you’re not indestructible.”

                He nodded. “I’ll be fine. Nothing I haven’t had before.” He worked his left arm a little, but everything seemed in order; Tony would want to check the tiny gap the driver’s knife had opened in the hardware.

                She reached up to brush his hair back again. “You didn’t hit your head or anything?”

                He shooed her hand gently back into her pocket. “I’m fine, doll. You don’t have to worry about me so much. Just frustrated you got dragged into this.”

                She shrugged, looking up at him with an impish grin. “Yeah, if you wanted to get rid of me so bad, there are easier ways. Her voice deepened in a comical mimic. ‘ _Hey, Darcy, I hate being your boyfriend. A recovering brainwashing victim needs his space and independence. Go away_.’” She giggled, tucking her head into the hollow of his shoulder.

                He dropped a kiss to the crown of her head. “I love being your boyfriend. And recovering from brainwashing must have the opposite effect on half its victims because I want you nearer and nearer every day.” He felt the box, mercifully still in his pocket.

                She cooed against him.

                Frankly, he’d been surprised at Tony’s willingness to agree to his request.

                _“Don’t pussy-foot around the bush, kid. You want your girl to move in, right?”_

_“Um. Yeah.”_

_“Well, then ask her.”_

_“You’re okay with that? I mean…it’s your Tower.”_

_“Yeah, but its_ Avengers _Tower. And you’re an_ Avenger _now. And kid, I got so much money, I don’t have any business being_ not _okay with anything. That, and, you know, Pepper thinks you’re cute, and it would piss her off if I said no, and she’d just go and tell you yes anyway, soon as my back was turned.”_

_“So…you’re okay with…”_

_“Buck, I don’t hate you. Okay? Let’s just get that out of the way, because I feel like it’s been the elephant in the room for, like, the past_ month _. Was I pissed when I found out you caused the accident that killed mom and dad? Sure. But when you walked in that day and sat at that lab table and I saw the look on your face…I wasn’t angry anymore, alright? I know how the bad guys can…climb inside your head.” He looked faintly haunted for a moment. “HYDRA’s going down. And you’re gonna help us, right?”_

_He nodded. “Yeah.”_

_“Okay, then. Consider that your penance for me. Got it, kid? You just make sure you take care of Darcy._ Someone’s _got to. Poor girl puts up with me enough as it is.”_

                “You know, I don’t like the idea of your apartment being so far from the Tower. Especially now that you’re involved in this.”

                She waved a hand. “Oh, _stop_. I’ll be _fine_.”

                He frowned. “You don’t want…another place?”

                “ _Hah_! Yeah, with hardwood floors, a balcony, a full bar, a fireplace, and access to a pool in the summertime. Sure, Buck. I’ll get right on that.”

                He smirked, triumph just around the corner. If he could manage to get them home first.

                For a block or two they walked in companionable silence again, and his hand was warm and snug around her waist, straying to squeeze her hip before trailing back again.

                “Shut up,” she suddenly said.

                He frowned, looking down at her. “What?”

                “ _Shut up_ ,” she repeated, more forcefully.

                He blinked. “I…I didn’t say anything.”

                But she shook her head. “You didn’t need to. I can hear your brain _shouting_ at me. None of this is your fault. It’s _HYDRA_. ‘ _Cut off one head and two more shall take its place_ ’ or whatever shit it is. You guys, the whole gang, you’ve cut off a few heads now, so they’re pissed. They’re coming out of the woodwork. They know that you’re a weak point now, because you know a bunch of their secrets. So they’re out in full force tonight to take you out. That’s _not your fault_ , Jamie.”

                He looked down at her, her wind-tossed chestnut curls and her full, dark lips, the feisty spark in her eyes. “You sure about that, doll?”

                She snorted. “Would you _stop_?! Stop acting like you _deserve_ this, like you should just hand yourself over. Not only is it a load of bullshit, but you know I’ll hate you forever if you do. You are aware of that, yes?” She cocked one eyebrow and gave him that look, that challenge hard in her eyes.

                But he didn’t know what to say; she’d caught him red-handed, a bit. Ever since Steve had found him, hiding out in that abandoned factory, and dragged him back. Ever since he’d had him sit in intake for two hours, even while Bucky was still swimming in his own despair and uncertainty, barely sure who he was. Even as he was certain that the whole gang was up there, arguing about him and he wondered, idly, which of the members that he’d already seen would take which side. Ever since Tony had come down to unlock the room himself and offered him a job on the spot, no strings attached, no questions asked, and told him that he understood how the bad guys operated and that there would be no blame to go around…

                He’d felt as though he was sleepwalking. _No punishment_?

                Steve insisted that they’d all agreed that what he’d been through had been punishment enough. That he would go through _still_ more, just being in his own head, trying to _win back_ his own head.

                And Darcy had sat down on that lab stool and given him that _look_.

                And he’d felt…more grounded than he had since that day at the Smithsonian, staring at his own face and unsure if he recognized it.

                She nudged him in the side, and he knew she was watching the emotions play on his face. “ _You’re not a monster_. I outta know. I’ve met a few. You’re way too good-looking. I mean, that’s the first thing that comes to mind, it’s actually a really good tool for judgment. You’re, like, _drop-dead_ gorgeous.” She reached up with her free hand and curled a lock of hair behind his ear. “You have sad eyes. Bad guys don’t have sad eyes.”

                He felt the flush heat his cheeks.

                “And you’re like, _way_ too good in bed. It’s, like, _ridiculous_ , how good in bed you are. I’d say it’s not fair, but since I’m the one that gets to take advantage of it, I’m not really worried about it.” She stuck her little pink tongue out at him.

                He smirked.

                “Maybe you’re, like, a supernatural creature. Maybe that’s it. You’re a vampire. Vampires are good looking _and_ good in bed, and sometimes they think they’re bad guys…right?”

                He snorted at her sudden silliness. “Back in my day, vampires were _always_ bad guys. There was no brooding or _sparkling in the sun_.”

                She nodded, considering. “That’s less fun.”

                He laughed, shaking his head.

                “Okay, so no on vampire, then.”

                “I’m not immortal. I was just in and out of cryo. Huge difference, there, doll.”

                She blinked up at him. “So…how long were you ever out? Like, in total?”

                He shrugged. “Not sure. That’d be a question for Tony or JARVIS. I haven’t read all the files. Don’t really want to. Couple weeks? Probably more like a month or two. Sometimes they’d have me lead the mission, sometimes they wouldn’t wake me until we were nearly ready to go and all their other options had been exhausted.”

                “Like Nick’s car chase?”

                He nodded. “Yep.”

                “So…you’re _not_ immortal? You _sure_?” She smirked playfully, and winked.

                He nodded. “Yep, I’m sure.”

                “So, that makes you…my age. Not 95.”

                “Nope, last I checked, I was not 95. Don’t _feel_ 95 anyway…”

                She sobered, her smile slipping off her face. “I just…don’t want you to _feel_ this way anymore. And I know that you probably will _always_ feel this way…Guess I’d be surprised if you didn’t. But…none of that is your fault. I know it _feels_ like it is, I know that memories make it…real. But…You’ll work through it. And…Steve told me…about that day…his mother’s funeral, that you kept looking for him and he kept avoiding you.”

                He felt his stomach drop out as the memory hit him full-on. That was something, too. Things he only remembered half of that would suddenly be colored in when they were mentioned or suggested, or a familiar phrase pulled the rest of it out of the deep pockets of his memory.

                Steve, half dazed in mourning, trying to find the key to his door.

                Reaching down for him and pulling it out of its hiding place. Squeezing his shoulder.

                “Sarah. Her name was Sarah.”

                Her eyes softened. “Yeah?”

                He nodded. “Mm. Pretty woman.”

                “Pretty name. It’s just…I want you to be _that_ guy again, okay? You’re steadfast and you’re loyal to a fault. Just like Steve. I think you...still have more of that Bucky in you than you think.” She smirked when he blushed again. “And I want you to be able to do that for yourself, okay? Achieving forgiveness from others isn’t half as hard as finding it in _yourself_.”

                He blinked down at her, the old, familiar ache building in his chest.

                “It’s just…” She smoothed her hand down his t-shirt, her skin warm over his ribs. “Steve isn’t the only one who’s with you ‘till the end of the line. Okay?”

                His throat closed and he couldn’t look at her for a moment. She went back to surveying the street around them, eyes sharp on the people in the crowd, darting across the street and checking that out as well. She shivered against him. And she was the one wearing a coat.

                Glad for the excuse, he dipped down to press another kiss to the crown of her head. “It’s cold. You want a coffee? Or a hot cocoa?” he asked softly, concerned. The vendors were out in full force tonight; it reminded him a little of home, shops open at every corner, streetlamps casting everything in a hazy glow down in Brooklyn.

                Sitting on Steve’s balcony, sharing a rolled newspaper full of roast chestnuts, their feet up on the railing, laughing as they scoped out the cute dames walking by with their friends, teasing, then throwing them at each other before their noise would finally inspire Sarah to come to the window and tell them to stop behaving like a couple of knuckleheads.

                “I’m fine. You’re like a radiator. Except unlike the one in my apartment, you actually give off _consistent_ heat. How you can be cold I’ll never understand.”

                He shrugged. “Probably all in my head.”             

                “You looked like you were _lost_ in your head there, again, speaking of…”

                He smiled down at her. “Yeah.”

                Reading his face, she smiled. “Good, then?”

                “Someday I’ll tell you about it.”

                He pulled her into a little café and deli. “We’ve gotta sit down, outta the cold, for a minute.” He pushed her down into a chair by the window, smoothing his hands over the shoulders of her coat and squeezing affectionately. “I’ll be right back.”

                She raised a brow. “You’re not afraid the manager is a HYDRA plant, then?”

                He fixed her with a  flat look. “Listen to you, _Stan Laurel_. Where’s Hardy?”

                She laughed, calling after him as he went to get in line. “Careful, _old man_ , your age is showing!” She slipped off her coat and slung it over the back of the chair.

                She sat watching him as he ordered, calm and neat, smiling at the girl behind the counter. She blushed and darted her eyes around, obviously looking for any female companion. Her eyes landed on Darcy, then narrowed.

                Darcy smirked and shook her head. “Yeah, you were a dog alright,” she muttered.

                And he wasn’t even _trying_ ; clearly he had no idea what sort of vibe he gave off.

                He was back five minutes later with two cups and a slice of pound cake on a cute little plate. Steam rose from the tiny sipping holes in the lids and she leaned over hers when he handed it over. “Ahhh, Cinnamon Latte?”

                “With extra shot and cream.” He winked. “Hey, if I don’t know my best girl’s order by now, I’m doing something wrong.”

                They’d done this a lot, those first few months, gone out for coffee together and shared a table. Bucky would go over the paperwork from a mission or sort through a few files for review Tony would pass along on established protocols. Darcy would bring over some work of Jane’s that still needed tabulating in Jane’s program on her laptop. Sometimes they’d just sit and talk.

                She glanced around. The couch they sometimes shared was taken tonight. Just about two weeks prior, they’d tucked into one corner of it with files and a book, and she’d taken off her sneakers and slid her feet under his thigh, like they sat in his apartment.

                “That wouldn’t happen to be vanilla pound cake, would it, _stud-muffin_?” she wheedled him sweetly.

                He laughed. “ _’Stud-muffin’_? God, _no_ , you can’t call me that.”

                “Why not? I think it’s perfectly reasonable. You are a _stud_ , after all.”

                He sighed, but shook his head, sipping from his cup. Straight black. That much, he remembered, hadn’t changed in seventy years.

                “So,” she started, sitting back and popping a corner of the cake into her mouth. “Why the stopover here? Thought you wanted to get home.”

                He shrugged, his sharp eyes on the crowds out the window. “Yeah, well. My desire for something hot was stronger. Tired of running. All I wanted was a nice date. So fuck ‘em.”

                She grinned, popping another piece into her mouth. It melted on her tongue. “Oh, this is so good.”

                “Yeah, Steve’s mom used to make something like this. Only on Christmas, though, so every year I’d try to steal Steve’s piece. Finally she just made a whole second one for me.”

                She laughed. “God, you were such a _dog_.”

                He shrugged.

                “You don’t remember?”

                “Not really, no.”

                “So you had no idea what sorta moves you were putting on the poor girl at the counter, then, eh?”

                He whipped around, just in time for the girl to look away, blushing, nearly dumping the drink she was finishing. “What? What do you mean?”

                She laughed, waving her hand. “Never mind.” She tore off another piece and popped it in her mouth. “Seriously. Christmas gift idea for next year. This stuff is _orgasmic_.”

                A brow went up and his hand found her thigh under the tiny table. “ _Really_?”

                She gave him a sly look. “Mm-hmm.”

                His eyes darkened a little as he leaned across the table. “I’ll have to try harder, then.”

                She tried to keep a straight face, but failed miserably, dissolving into a small giggling fit and shaking her head at him. “Yeah, you don’t remember my _ass_ , Barnes.”

                He winked.

                “You wanna go around back and have a quickie, while we’re at it?” she teased.

                He played right along. “Oh, yeah, because your psychotic boyfriend would do so well with that.”

                She didn’t mean it, of course, but he was so fun to ruffle sometimes. “Psychotic. _Right_. ‘Cause _that’s_ why I stick around.”

                “Controlled environments only, Lewis.”

                She knocked his shin with her heel. “I’ll give you a _controlled environment, Sergeant_.”

                He rolled his eyes.

                They sat for a while, talking about Tony’s Christmas party. It had been fun, even if Tony had gone all out, gaudy decorations _everywhere_ , a few hidden cameras. He’d even edited some of the footage to create an Avenger’s Holiday Gag Reel.

                “Well, Sam dropping Clint in the sparring ring probably would be my favorite,” he admitted, chuckling at the memory of Clint as he’d groused. “He likes to pretend nobody’s capable of taking him down, but last week, I made JARVIS put our session in inventory.” He grinned.

                “No, no, Steve and Nat making out in the board room, all the way. Steve was _bright_ _red_!”

                Bucky shook his head. “He used to be a mess around dames. Seriously. It was _awful_.”

                She laughed. “And how drunk was Tony by the end of the night?”

                He sobered. “ _We_ weren’t on there at all.”

                She frowned. “No. We weren’t. Didn’t even think of that.” She shrugged. “Thank _God_. Tony’s the _king_ of holdovers. He’d _never_ let us live it down. Lucky thing that we don’t get into sexy mischief _outside_ your apartment.” She winked, her hand finding his knee under the tiny café table.

                He shrugged, eyeing her sidelong. “Well, it’s not like you _live_ in the Tower, so…”

                She gave a wistful sigh. “Mm. Yeah.”

                He swallowed, psyching himself up a little, Steve’s voice in his head.

                He could do this. He could.

                He could ask his girlfriend to move in after a night spent nearly being killed by his old handlers.

                Sure.

                Easy. No problem at all. _1945_ Bucky would just cock a brow, wink, and throw it out there, confident, cool, smooth.

                “Would you… _like_ to?”

                “How’s the coffee?”

                They both jumped, caught by surprise, to find a man standing at their table, eyeing them— _hard_.

                Darcy stuttered, her hand clamping around Bucky’s knee. “Uh…what?”

                He had blonde hair and eyes so light, they were nearly a silver-gray. The effect sent a chill up her spine. “The coffee,” he said, smiling thinly. “Good?” He leveled Bucky with an icy look.

                Her boyfriend was up like a shot; the table dumped between them, but he didn’t stop, snatching up her hand in his metal fingers and diving past him.

                The patron’s took turns gasping and shouting.

                Coffee Creep lunged after them, but missed, snagging Darcy’s purse before snarling and letting go. The table beside theirs dumped over as well, sending coffee sloshing into the lap of the two girls sitting there in their sparkly winter hats, clearly passing time before the ball drop.

                Bucky darted lithely between the close-packed tables, and she struggled to keep up. He careened toward the front door, but no sooner had they gotten there than two large men appeared outside, grinning as they waited for them. He slid to a stop and she would’ve made a comment about making him watch _Risky Business_ later if she hadn’t been so freaked out.

                “Shit,” he breathed, pulling her back again as they burst through the doors after them. “Back way.” He shoved through the divider at the front counter, pulling her roughly after him before diving through the door to the back storage room.

                Coffee Creep came through after them, shouting as he tripped over loose coffee lids left lying about.

                “That was advantageous,” Darcy gasped as she flicked a tube of them beside her and let it dump onto the floor behind them as she passed.

                Bucky took her lead, pulling down a tube of cups as well and letting them roll to the tiled floor, slowing down their pursuer even more.

                They burst out the back door into the alley—

                And straight into the two large men who’d been waiting for them out front.

                “ _Fuck me_!” Darcy exclaimed, sweeping her hair back from her face.

                Coffee Creep shot out after them, boxing them in with a grin like a shark.

                “Dinner. Was that so much to ask?!” she continued to complain. She shook Bucky’s shoulder, where he was partially blocking her from view. “Dinner, fireworks, some sex. That was _really_ all I wanted out of my _New Year’s evening_!” she yelled at the two huge men.

                “Darce?” Bucky asked.

                “Yeah?”

                “I love you. But _shut up_.”

 

**Quick Note** : As far as I could tell when I looked it up, _'My propustili vas, soldat'_ is Russian for 'We've missed you, soldier.'

 


	5. Anchor Leg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which violence ensues, a key is offered, and making out like a couple teenagers at Prom lands our protaganists in hot water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Sorry for the slight delay, guys! The past few evenings have been ridiculous, and I had some tweaking to do, so between the two, this is the earliest I could manage. There are some major FEELS in this chapter. Sorry/not sorry. Let me know how I'm doing (I feel like I should attach one of those stickers you see on the back of semi trucks with a number to call...) Anyhoo, seriously, the comments are so, so wonderful!

Bucky went immediately into what Darcy could only describe as _Combat Mode_. She did a huge double-take like Wile E. Coyote after he stepped off a cliff. She stood there, for a minute, too enraptured by him to even move, half waiting to realize the ground had _fallen away from under her_.

                He struck out in only the most efficient manner, ever the soldier, ever the lethal assassin, swinging here, striking there, jutting out with his knife using his right, and using his left as an offensive weapon in itself. It clanked and whirred softly as the three of them circled each other. He was like a machine.

                His eyes were sharp and intensely focused, just like _that day_ …dark.

                It was like she was watching a live version of that fight on the overpass he’d had with Steve. Only it was infinitely more impressive. And he was missing the gear and the mask and the…freaky bulletproof goggles…

                At least the dark jeans he had on were tight. She could appreciate that.

                Coffee Creep took advantage of her shock and jumped her, wrapping her in a searing, gasping grip at her back and chuckling in her ear.

                His aftershave was sharp, burning her nose.

                “ _Dude_ ,” she gasped. “ _Not_ a fan of the cologne.” She threw herself back and forth, hard, just the way Bucky had shown her the week before, how to move if a larger opponent had you in a body bind. And of course, as he’d snarked then, just about _everyone_ that Darcy would likely face would be larger than she was. Not that she’d tried to dispute it. Really, she’d done just the opposite, flirting when he grabbed her until he relented to a really hot make-out session that had left him probably the most unfocused she could ever remember seeing him.

                In hindsight, why _hadn’t_ they ended up on that Gag Reel?!

                Coffee Creep laughed, but held on tight. “Pretty thing, aren’t you?” he drawled.

                She noticed a distinct lack of an accent on him and wondered where on earth all these agents hid during _regular working hours_.

                “Yep, sure,” she commented, nonplussed by the compliment. Didn’t count when it came from a bad guy, right? “ _Someone else’s_ pretty thing. Seriously. You _reek_.”

                He laughed.

                “And you have such a nice nose, pretty boy.”

                “Oh?” he asked, sounding vaguely confused.

                “I hope this actually works.” God help her if this didn’t turn out like it did in the TV shows. She threw her head back, wincing as she butted him.

                The crack that met her ears a split second later was absolutely beautiful, and, mercifully, encouraged the idiot to let go—quite readily.

                She almost cheered as he lunged back from her. She was even more pleased when she saw she’d drawn blood.

                He glared at her breathlessly, reaching up to wipe furiously at his nose. “Little _bitch_ ,” he bit out.

                She grinned. “You bet your ass.”

                He advanced again and she danced back, bumping into Bucky, who reached up to steady her, still focused on his own battle.

                “Watch your six, doll,” he said under his breath.

                “Isn’t that _your_ job?” she snarked back. “It’s such a cute six.”

                Coffee Creep made another grab, but she darted to the side. “Don’t you think we should talk about this? I mean, isn’t that what antagonists are supposed to do in moments like this—start a soliloquy or some shit?”

                Bucky snorted.

                Coffee Guy sneered. “What’s there to talk about—I’ve got a job to do tonight and _you’re_ it.” He quirked a brow. “Maybe when I’m done doing my job, I can _do_ something else.”

                She snorted too, rolling her eyes. “Ugh, God, well, you nailed that cliché. Did you _hear_ that?” She darted a glance back to her boyfriend. “Did you talk to girls like that in 1945? Chivalry is so dead.”

                Bucky punched out viciously, nailing the larger of the two other men in the solar plexus, sending him crouching and coughing, hard, blood spattering the pavement. He turned for just a moment, his eyes still that shade of threatening, and smirked. The effect was actually a little creepy. “Ain’t looking like such an old man now, huh?” And he flipped off Coffee Dude, so nonchalantly, before turning back to his opponents.

                Darcy nearly laughed—was about to—but Coffee Guy grabbed her again at the wrist and tugged her in close, smiling.

“You guys keep acting like this is gonna be so easy.” She smacked up at his head with her free hand and felt it connect with his temple.

                He tightened his grip. “We don’t make the mistake of underestimating too much. Why else do you think we’d have three guys?”

                She cocked her head, listening. “You _sure_ it’s three?”

                Sobering, he looked over her shoulder—

                Just as one of the men crashed to the pavement, hard, bleeding from somewhere. Out cold. Or dead. Darcy couldn’t tell, though she had a feeling Bucky would go the rest of his life trying not to kill anyone else, no matter good guy or bad.

                She smirked. “Because it _looks_ more like two.”

                And Coffee Guy was done chatting, yanking at her arm to tug her in close again so he could drag her off. “You’re just a silly bitch, the bait. You’re coming with me.”

                She struck out again at his temple, surprising him. “You know something’s wrong when the dude from 2015 is more of a misogynist than the one from the 1945.”

                He snarled, tugging her closer, his hand closing around her throat.

                But she wasn’t as weak as she’d been when she’d tased Thor all those years ago. She focused, hard, recalling everything he’d shown her, everything he’d taught her, all the little nuances that he said would give her an edge. Even some of the things Natasha had suggested, calling across the room while they’d worked, sipping from her water bottle as she sparred with Steve. So, with a soundtrack provided by her vicious boyfriend, she fought back, reaching up to swing again at his head, trying to loosen his grip.

                He wasn’t that big. His hands weren’t _that_ large.

                She raised her arm and wailed on his head, then again, then surprised him by coming in close to use her elbow, driving it down into his collar bone.

                He downright shrieked, letting go, but it didn’t take him long to recover, and he snarled, advancing with his fists.

                She knocked his right hook out of the way, then blocked his left jab.

                This meant leaving herself open to another advance, and he drove into her with his shoulders, plowing into her bodily, and she went down, her ankle folding under her as she took the blow, landing hard on the cement with a shout. As her elbow struck, the force sent shockwaves down her arm and her fingers tingled painfully.

                He laughed as he righted himself, shaking off as he leered at her mussed skirt, leaving himself hilariously open.

                He never saw it coming.             

                She moved so fast, so instinctively, she could barely know what she was even doing. But in a flash, she was up on her knees and pulling her fist back, glad to finally get a chance to try out the nice hard uppercut Bucky had shown her, the one thing he’d said was good right off, even without refinement.

                And she nailed him right in the balls.

                Letting out what she could only describe as a girlish scream, he went down like a ton of bricks, crashing to the pavement, his face gone milky white as he shuddered, curling in on himself.

                Before he could even begin to recover, she was up and standing over him, smiling as she gave him a cute little wave. “Nighty-night, asshole.” And she drove her foot into his gut.

                His cry cut off as he swerved into unconsciousness.

                For a long moment, she could just stand there, enjoying the satisfaction of taking him down, all on her own.

                Then she jumped as the sound of clapping met her ears, slow and casual, and it echoed off the walls.

                She looked up to find Bucky leaning there, watching all this with an amused grin. Looking around as she caught herself up, she noted the other goon lying in a heap of his own, also out like a light.

                Breathless, she bowed, straightening her dress.

                “ _Very_ good. Trainer approved.”

                She laughed, still hopelessly winded, as he just stood there like he’d been lazing for half an hour, totally relaxed. “What, you were just gonna stand there? You weren’t gonna help a girl out? Your _poor girlfriend_?”

                He gestured to her trophy. “You didn’t need any help, babe.” He unhooked himself from the wall and approached, appraising her job with a nod. “You needed to feel the high of doing all that yourself. Besides, I was right there, I was all set to step in if you needed an assassin’s touch.” He winked. “That was pretty hot, actually.”

                She cocked a brow. Not often he used words like that. He was usually more subtle. Or maybe…he was just still getting a feel for himself.

                “Very sexy.”

                Then his words sank in and she blinked. “You called yourself an _assassin_.”

                He stopped, the smile slipping off his face.

                She pointed. “You _never_ joke about that. You’ve _never_ called yourself anything like that, you’ve just only ever said that you’re a _monster_.”

                He just stood there, watching her uncertainly, the moment crumbling.

                Her joyous laugh bubbled up before she could stop it and she gave a little hop, reaching up to grab his shoulders. “Buck! That was a _joke_! You made a _joke_ at your own expense! You were self-deprecating!”

                He just looked down at her, a torn frown on his face.

                She shook him, which didn’t say much as he only swayed. “This is good! This is _fantastic_!”

                He sighed. “Why?”

                “Oh, _come_ on! That slipped out and you didn’t even _know_ it! That means there’s personal growth!” She snorted. “God, that sounds cliché, but too bad. You’re _accepting_ it!”

                He didn’t seem too thrilled. “You’re sounding like the doc. Are girlfriends supposed to sound like psychiatrists?”

                She sighed, rolling her eyes. “Oh, don’t act like seeing a shrink is a bad thing! I saw one, after the whole London shit storm! Steve sees Dr. Jensen, down the hall!”

                He jerked. “He _does_?”

                She fixed him with a look. “Of _course_ he does. You thought he was just _okay_ like that _right away?_ Bucky, even if you _hadn’t_ been the Winter Soldier, going out in 1945 and waking up in 2015 would fuck with anyone’s head!”

                He took a step back. “Darce—”

                But she crowded him, her voice rising. “ _No_! You don’t get to step back now, Jamie! You _don’t_. We’ve been in this together since the _beginning_. You don’t get to put that face on now and pretend like this is awful.”

                He sighed. “That’s not what I—”

                She grabbed him, softening her voice. “I…I don’t know…” She swallowed. “I still don’t know…what made me…go into the lab, that day, okay, Buck? I still don’t know why I thought it would be a good idea to sit down right next to an amnesiac assassin. Jane almost _killed_ me the next day and Thor gave me an honest-to-God _dad_ speech for a _fucking_ hour, explaining all the ways that I’m ‘ _not yet a shield maiden’_ , especially without my ‘ _handheld lightning_.’” She snorted.

                “I just…” She looked down at the ground, her ruined pumps. “I just _did_. You looked…” She laughed self-consciously. “God, I sound like some idiot chick. You looked…you looked like you needed someone who wouldn’t turn tail the minute they saw you.” She shrugged. “And maybe I was feeling a little brave, and _hello_ —I couldn’t stop _staring_ at you—you’re kinda _beautiful_.”

                He stared down at her, his heart in his throat.

                “But…I guess I figured that maybe if one person told you that you weren’t a monster enough times, you might actually believe it.” She shrugged. “I, uh…I’m not very good at pouring my heart out.”

                “You don’t need to,” he croaked, swallowing.

                She reached up to press a hand to his sternum, and she could feel his heart beating, steady, under her palm. “The fact that you’re terrified that you _are_ a monster should be proof enough to you that you’re _not_. Machines don’t _feel_.” She reached over to finger the tiny gap of damage in his metal arm and she poked it until he drew it back, almost as though he could feel the warmth of her skin there. “They don’t feel guilt. They don’t feel pain, they don’t feel anger or regret.”

                He knew what was coming. “Darcy, don’t—”

                “They don’t love.”

                His heart jumped.

                She felt it; he knew she did, and she looked up at him, then, with her big, cerulean eyes wide. “Do you?”

                He felt like he couldn’t breathe.

                “Did you mean it?”

                He swallowed.

                “Do you love me?”

                He couldn’t go another second without touching her, and he reached out with his metal hand to slide the loosened sleeve of her dress back up her shoulder; she shivered against the cold metal. “Yes.”

                It was barely a whisper, but her next shiver told him she’d heard him.

                He bent to kiss her and she sighed, slipping her arms around his neck and returning the gesture.

                It was soft at first, careful and gentle and he pulled taut on the self-control he so often reined in, using laser focus to stay his hand here, soften his grip there.

                But she gave a soft moan and tugged him down closer, her teeth catching on his lower lip and tugging. “I won’t shatter.”

                He growled at this, shoving her back against the brick wall and letting his hands walk, his left across her back, eliciting another icy shiver, encouraging her closer to his body heat. His right drifted down, over her generous curves, down her spine, and hooked around her ass, grinding her against him.

                She gasped, her hands sliding up, her fingers tangling in his hair, and she leaned, baring her neck.

                He nipped a path down her throat, slowly, until he’d reached the delicious little juncture where her pulse jumped, and he closed his mouth around it, sucking gently at the rushing vein.

                Her whole body reacted, shuddering against him—

                And then she was pushing him back, gently but firmly, and he took a moment to clear the golden haze from his vision.

                “Buck…” She was looking equally dazed as she struggled to speak. “…we can’t…we can’t _here_ …we have to get home.” She swallowed thickly, then did it again, looking around. “We have to get home. Where the fuck is my purse?”

                He crossed to the far wall, on slightly unsteady legs, where the door to the café had slammed shut behind them, and retrieved her Michael Kors from the ground. “Check everything’s there.”

                She did, leaning back and struggling to breathe as she sifted through the contents. “Yeah.” Just then, her phone went off, blaring _Hooked On A Feeling_ through the alleyway. She jumped and swiped at it with a frown. “Jane?”

                “Where the _Hell_ are you two?! I’ve been worried _sick_!”

                She sighed, reaching up to rub at her temple, the building ache there.

                He reached up to run his fingers through his hair before moving on to her own, pulling his fingers down the long chestnut waves and smoothing them back down.

                “Yeah, we…uh…took a detour.”

                He snorted.

                Jane was not amused. “Well, you _better_ be on your way back, because Sam won’t answer his door, Maria won’t answer her phone, and I know how much you love it when Pepper and Tony get like the group mom and dad. I will go and get him _right_ now, and he can ping your tracker, Darcy—”

                “ _Whoa_! Jane. _Relax_. We’re on our way back.”

                “Well, what’s taking so long?!”

                “We should really get going,” Bucky said, eyeing her with an amused eyebrow.

                She nodded, rolling her eyes. “We won’t be long. And don’t you dare go to Tony. He’ll never let us out the fucking tower again!” Forget Tony— _Pepper_ wouldn’t let them out again without an armed escort if she knew they drew this much attention on the street…

                “ _Darcy_ —!”

                “Just…” She took a deep breath and leaned into Bucky’s hand at her back. “We won’t be long. If we’re not back by midnight, you have my permission to send the fucking cavalry. Just…I’ll call if we need you. Okay?”

                Jane grumbled, but finally acquiesced, with more colorful, science-themed threats, and finally hung up.

                She sighed, leaning back against the wall and trying to breathe while she eyed her boyfriend up and down. “I have every intention of finishing mauling you, but, you know…without these shoes, and…that huge bed of yours is _so fucking comfortable_.”

He smirked.

She smoothed a hand down his shirtfront. “Home?”

                “Why you calling the Tower home?”

                She shrugged, a breathless chuckled skipping free. “Spend more time there than I do at my apartment, I think.”

                His heart seized; the moment had magically presented itself, dropping down between them, drifting on the breeze like a feather— _a neon sign_ of a feather, with an arrow, that said, _“Here. Now don’t miss it!”_

                She took a deep breath and sighed, finally collecting herself.

                “You know…this wasn’t really just supposed to be a casual thing,” he began.

                She snorted. “Yeah, declarations of love tend to cross certain lines. And, you know, being chased by your old, evil handlers sorta had the ship sailing a _long_ time ago…”

                “No, no… _Tonight_ , I mean…” He reached into his pocket, his fingers folding around the small box. “I mean…I was…I was gonna give you this.” He held it out. Thank God it was bigger than a ring box or he had a feeling she’d have freaked. No _way_ was that an option.

                Then again…

                He swallowed that down for further inspection at a later a date—a _much later date_.

                She took it, staring at it, then up at him, with questioning eyes. “What is this? It’s not my birthday.”

                He shrugged. “So?”

                She narrowed her eyes. “Gifts at other times of the year. _Points_ , Barnes.”

                He laughed. “You know, I’m not a _total_ idiot. I used to be good at this, back in the day— _so I’m told._ Just open it.”

                She tugged at the lid, revealing just a plain, boring key. Frowning, she looked up at him. “Is this…?”

                He shrugged again, self-conscious. “You don’t have to spend _any_ time at your apartment…if you don’t want to...”

                Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. Then closed again.

                And he couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t stop it all from rushing out in ridiculously stilted phrases, disjointed and directionless, just like him. “The suite is just… _so fucking big_. And _empty_ when you’re not there. And you’re the only one who doesn’t look at me like you’re still half expecting me to just…disintegrate. And the common rooms feel like…a _fishbowl_. And no one’s relatable, and Steve just looks at me like he’s pinned everything on the hope that I’m…that I’m still… _me_. _All of me_. And I’m _not_. And I won’t ever be again. And…and I guess…that’s okay.”

Her eyes widened.

He took a deep breath, shifting self-consciously. “And I guess I’m okay with that, and I didn’t think I ever _would_ be. But I…I _remember_ things when you’re there, and I can _relax_ when you’re there. And it feels…like _home_ when you’re there. It feels like it did… _before_. And I _can’t stand it_ when you leave in the morning, it’s _freezing_ , and the bed’s too big. And those nights when you’re out, I just sit on the balcony and _brood_ and I _can’t sleep_. I can’t…I can’t _stand it_ anymore. I can’t. I don’t…I don’t _want to_ anymore.” He swallowed, cursing his shaking voice.

Darcy was staring at him. “ _Bucky_ …”

“There are…pieces of me missing. And some of them will find their way back. But not all of them will, they’re _never coming back_. And I…I’m not sure that I’m a whole person, sometimes, and then sometimes I feel like I’m _two_ people, and they won’t… _fit together. Neither of those two people are whole, either, but if they won’t fit together, then what am I left with?_ I’m…I’m broken. And when it’s just me in the silence…or me surrounded by people I _barely_ know— _even Steve_ —I…I _feel_ broken. But…not when you’re there. When you’re there it’s just…like…I don’t need those missing pieces, like I can just…fill them in with…new ones.” He swallowed again. “It feels like…there’s nothing to fix.”

To his surprise a tear slipped free of her eye and down her cheek. But before he could wipe it away, she’d buried herself against his front, sniffling and burrowing against him, wrapping her arms around him and getting little black flecks of her mascara on his bloodstained, already-ruined t-shirt. “God damn it, Barnes. Darcy Lewis does _not_ cry!” She took a shuddering breath and sniffled again.

He was numb.

“You’re…okay with this?” she sniffled.

He almost nodded, but then remembered she couldn’t see him and somehow found a way to force his hoarse voice out. “…I want it. I haven’t… _wanted_ anything like this in…a really long time.”

Her hand drifted up his back.

“But you were okay with hanging around while I remembered what it felt like.”

She sniffled.

“You were okay with me…staggering around like a lost dog. You were…the most okay with it of everyone. There was no…there was no pressure. No expectations, no memories.”

She sighed. “Steve will come around. Just give him time.”

He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.

“Buck…I know how you are…Dr. Rosen’s okay with this?”

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Thinks it’s a good idea.”

“And…Tony?”

He realized they were having a whole conversation without even looking at each other, in a dim alleyway at whatever o’clock at night in the middle of Manhattan. “He practically ordered me.”

She sniffled again. “You’re _sure_?”

“JARVIS is still processing and programming your digital key card and your fingerprint signature. But underneath all of Tony’s gadgets, doors still work the same way here as they did in 1945. Just don’t hide it and then forget where you put it. Steve used to do that all the time. It was, like, his _worst_ habit.”

“But, _Bucky_ …”

He shrugged, much as he could. “I’m not…really in the habit of pouring my heart out, either. Least…I don’t _think_ I am.” He blinked. “Yeah, no, I wasn’t ever in the habit of doing that.”

She gave a damp laugh and swatted him gently as she parted from him. “Shut up, Barnes.”

“Never met a dame made me want to, I guess.”

She gave him a watery smile.

“You want it?”

She bit her lip, looking up at him again with those big, wide eyes.

“There’s a full bar. And a fireplace. And access to a swimming pool.”

She burst out laughing at his use of her criteria before. “You _dog_! You’ve been hinting at this _all night_ , dipping your toe in the water!”

He shrugged, feeling a blush heat his ears. “How _else_ was I supposed to tell if you—”

She silenced him with another warm kiss, a soft press of mouths. “ _My_ key,” she declared, sliding it into her bag. She slipped her hand down his arm and twined their fingers. “Shall we?”

He looked around. “You want your coat?”

She snorted, remembering slinging it across her café chair before they’d kicked up a scene. Well, another scene. “Don’t think they’d take too kindly to us waltzing back in there, do you?”

He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. “Don’t be. It’s been an adventure.”

“I’ll get you another one.”

“Go for it. You have _spectacular_ taste in gifts.”

“Oh.” He paused at the mouth of the alley. “By the way.” He dug in his pocket. “Would you mind telling me what _this_ is about?” He pulled out her necklace and let it drop into her palm, fixing her with an arch look. “Who’s side of the Cold War you on, Lewis?”

She rolled her eyes, dropping it into her bag. “Yeah, I know. Saw it the other day and it reminded me of you, so I bought it anyway.” She shrugged. “Hey—it’s just a star. Could be anything, nowadays.” She looked back at the front door. People were milling around in the coffee shop and she couldn’t tell what was going on very well. “We’re gonna have to find a new coffee joint.”

He slung an arm around her shoulders. “Who says we need one?”

She settled her head into the hollow of his shoulder. “Are you _kidding_? How can I show you off to other chicks if we stay inside all the time?” She poked him in his hard stomach. “My mucle-y boyfriend.”

He rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t stop the smirk. He sighed, relieved. He wasn’t sure why he’d been worrying, really. She’d been bound to take the key.

Maybe he hadn’t needed to feel quite so…vulnerable. He normally hated feeling vulnerable, the emotion so contrary to the way he’d been trained to feel, manipulated into feeling, programmed to—he clamped down on the runaway thoughts.

She made it okay to feel like that again.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out, swiping across the screen. “Wanda?”

Darcy looked up.

“Sergeant Barnes!” she greeted, sounding decidedly cheerful, if a little tired. “I wanted to check in quickly before I retired for the night, and see how the evening went.”

“Tell her the steak was phenomenal,” Darcy said, a little too loudly. “And tell her if she knew about this key, her and I will be having a nice, little chat tomorrow about girlfriends and secrets.”

Bucky grinned, sliding his arm around her waist, and they rejoined the sea of people swimming through Downtown. They’d tried to avoid this part of town and they’d ended up herded straight into it—probably by design. He held up the phone, chuckling.

“I have no idea what she’s talking about,” Wanda called through the phone. “But if she insists, I would be interested in hearing about some _other_ details of the night over a coffee.”

The suggestive tone in her voice pulled another blush from Bucky’s ears. He rounded on his girlfriend. “And what might _that_ be interpreted as, hm?”

Darcy looked away, suddenly very interested in the group of preening girls next to her, all crowding around a tiny compact and checking their eyeliner. “I don’t know what she’s talking about either. A good girlfriend doesn’t kiss and tell.”

He snorted. “Yeah, ladies, that rule hasn’t changed in the last seventy years. Just keep that in mind.”

Wanda laughed a wicked little laugh in his ear. “Oh, but I’m sure there’s _plenty_ of the Sergeant to go around.”

Darcy was red in the face from trying not to burst out laughing and she bit her lip as she shook her head.

“Well, I can’t speak for this other creep I supposedly used to be, but I ain’t rising to the bait. And by the way, I know this trick too, Witchy Girl. This ain’t a test you can tempt me with.”

Darcy broke down cackling beside him, hiding her face in his shoulder. “You were _never_ a creep, Barnes! I got all the dirt from Spangles months ago! Those two girls from that double you tried to spring on him both went up to bed _alone_. According to your roommate, you came home quite tipsy and passed out on your bed.”

Wanda sighed. “Right, then. You pass. Was dinner good?”

“Yep. Thanks for the suggestion.”

“Well. You looked so overwhelmed, sitting there, staring at all the Google results—and there are so, many— _too_ many—I thought I would point you in the right direction. After all, you’re not dating a girl only likes salads and treadmills.”

“Yeah, glad I missed most of those girls, come to think of it.”

“And coffee is _absolutely not_ on the list for tomorrow,” Darcy called through the phone again. “After this Wild Goose Chase, I’m gonna sleep for a week.”

Wanda snorted. “Yes, because _sleeping_ is _exactly_ what you’ll be doing.”

Bucky sighed. “You know, for a girl ain’t had much time in the States, you sure know you’re way around a good innuendo.”

But nothing fooled Wanda. “Oh, we had those in Sokovia. It’s Russian HYDRA you want to avoid. No sense of humor there at all, trust me.”

He snorted. “Yeah. I _remember_.”

“Of course. Funny how certain things stick.”

“Goodnight, Wanda, dear.”

“Night, night. Hope you don’t sleep at all.”

He rolled his eyes and slid his phone back into his pocket and looked up at the dark sky.

“We’re gonna end up covered in confetti and glitter. I _hate_ confetti and glitter,” Darcy grumbled.

“I wanna know how long you’ve been getting coffee with Wanda,” was his only reply.

She turned red under the brightening Manhattan lights. “I…don’t know—”

“what I’m talking about,” he finished, giving her an arch look. “Mm-hmm, _right_.” But he was smiling. “I hope you at least make me look good.”

She chewed on her lip. “Actually, they’ve been after me for a while.”

He was surprised how uncomfortable she looked; his Darcy gave off an air of endless chatter and frothy details, no secrets and dirty jokes everywhere—at least with her girls. “Oh? Who?”

She blushed again. “Her and Jane. The Thor well has run dry. They can’t get anything outta Nat so they keep running to me. And Maria scares them a little.”

He snorted. “Maria scares _everyone_ a little. And, of course they won’t get anything out of Natasha—she’s _Natasha_.”

She shrugged. “It’s just weird.”

“ _What’s_ weird? You strike me as the kinda girl _designed_ for the phrase, _Kiss and Tell_.” He winked, snaking her closer with his arm so he could lean down and reach her ear.

She squealed as he nibbled at it and shoved until he relented, giggling. “No, it’s just…I dunno. Ordinarily, I probably would make mojitos on Saturday night while you were out with the guys and we’d watch—”

“ _Sex and the City_?” he interjected.

She swatted him. “You’re learning too fast. Stop it. No. I mean, I guess with other guys I’ve been more than willing to spill, but…I dunno. This is different.”

He studied her. “I don’t really mind. I mean, assuming it’s just frivolous stuff. I can’t pretend you’re not gonna offer stuff to your friends, Darce.”

“No, I mean…with everyone else, you’re closed and shut off and hesitant. And that’s okay. I know why. And I know it’ll fade. It hasn’t been that long.”

He tried not to stiffen at her on-the-nose description. Even around Steve, he held himself in a certain level of check, always over-thinking replies and looks, trying to do what he thought Steve’s Bucky would do. It weighed on him too much. Even Steve wasn’t fun anymore.

They were gonna have to have a talk. Being a guy, he hated those sorts of talks. Ugh.

“I mean…that’s not the Bucky that I get. I get _relaxed_ Bucky. I get _witty sarcasm_ Bucky. I get _beats my ass at Clue_ Bucky, and _really fucking good in bed_ Bucky, and… _here’s my heart, don’t step on it because the glue holding it together still isn’t dry_ Bucky.”

He looked down at her, surprised at her…apt description.

She swallowed, looking shy again. It tugged at him. His Darcy was rarely shy. “That Bucky is all mine. I don’t want to share him with anyone else. He means too much to me. And…he needs understanding. And _he protects me_ , so _I protect him_. So he’s all mine. He’s not up for discussion. And…so I keep putting them off. And my luck will probably run out eventually and I’ll have to confess a really _obnoxious_ habit of yours, like… _Thor leaving the toilet seat up all the time_.” She giggled.

He snorted. “And what habit have you chosen? _Leaving the cap off the toothpaste_?” He was positive he didn’t do that. He couldn’t remember how it’d been before too, too well. But there was enough mentality up there of The Depression. He knew he still lived a bit like a Spartan, a soldier. Neat and tidy.

She rolled her eyes, then narrowed them, thinking. “Hm…you tend to leave the blanket all crumpled on the couch, you _never_ fold it.”

He laughed.

“You _never_ close the shades. I mean, _God_ , _anyone_ could see in, we’re only a _billion_ floors up, I mean, _who needs that view_. And you’re like…God, you’re _way_ too snuggly. I don’t know what I’m gonna do, but I’m gonna have to make a call, here, because it’s getting outta hand, Barnes. I can’t keep living like this.”

He sighed.

But she wasn’t done. “And you never just let me shower. You’ve _always_ gotta join me. Can you say ‘ _annoying’_? Your hands are _huge_ , I swear a massage from you leaves me like a _limp noodle_. _Ugh_.”

But she kept going. “And giving me _space_? And getting my favorite beer, even though you can’t really have any. I dunno. Some of these are deal breakers, man. Definitely in the ‘con’ column. We’re gonna have to have a long talk and I’m gonna have to do some soul searching here before we can continue.”

He stared at her. “Nothing? _Nothing_ I do drives you nuts? I feel like that’s a bad omen.”

She shrugged.

“I don’t snore?”

She shook her head.

“I don’t rush around?”

She shook her head again. “You’re _very_ _good_ at taking your time. Actually, I’ve never understood people that don’t get foreplay. I mean, that’s not how a woman _works_ , and…” She sighed. “You’ve… _mastered_ the art.”

He snorted a laugh. “Not…really what I meant, but I’ll make note of that.”

“And that one time, that _shitty_ day when I kept calling you to complain about Jane making me run hell bent for leather around town on _stupid_ science-y errands, and that guy grabbed my ass in the middle of Walgreens, and you were all ready to come out and help me, even though you were busy in briefings _all day_ with Tony and Steve, and I _still_ came home to… _that_.”

He flushed, darting a look around. “Well…you sounded like you needed a good decompression. I’ve learned a few things in 2015.”

She shook her head. “ _Only you_ could figure out that even though I _said_ I wanted a shot of something hard and for you to bash me around, what I really needed was a long, hot bath and a glass of wine. That’s so _girly_. But you still figured it out. _I_ hadn’t even figured it out!”

He smiled.

“And you had _Game of Thrones_ waiting for me when I got out.”

“Even though we didn’t watch most of it,” he snickered, his hand creeping low at her back.

She laughed, ducking away before coming back. “Yeah, no, we watched that one three times before we got through it, didn’t we?”

He shrugged. “I seem to remember you feeling _inspired_ every time Jon Snow kissed what’s-her-name.”

“Ygritte.”

“Yeah, right. I still think he’s a Targaryen.”

She smirked. “You didn’t seem like you were _complaining_.”

He shrugged. “Why would I complain? I’m not stupid.”

“A little _behind_ , maybe.”

He let out a rough sigh. “A few _decades_ , sure.” He shimmied neatly between two large crowds and they spilled out onto the inner edge of the huge walk, where it was a little thinner. He slowed up and ducked out of the crowd to pull her close, skimming her lips with his mouth. “I’ve got a little catching up to do, I figure I should take every opportunity.”

“ _Yes_ , Sergeant.”

He rolled his eyes.

She got up on her toes, laughing at his reaction.

He kissed her silent, a sweet, pulling sort of kiss, filled with longing and warmth. She tugged at a strand of hair, her other arm slipping around his waist. Her perfume was intoxicating. He changed the angle, sighing against her mouth, and gently nipped, tugging at her lower lip, and she shuddered against him again.

“We should go home,” she finally managed to whisper when they came up for air.

He nodded, ignoring her and reigniting the kiss instead, determined to make the night at least a little less than awful and exhausting. “Hm-mm…just a sec.”

She kissed him back anyway, her nails coming up to scratch lightly against the nape of his neck, and she smiled against his mouth as his arms reacted, pulling her closer, his enhanced grip almost too tight, _deliciously_ tight.

Someone wolf whistled in the crowd.

They ignored it. They’d hardly be the first couple in Manhattan—on this night in particular—to make out against an alley wall.

“Wanda’s right, the little _bitch_ ,” Darcy drawled as he began that slow crawl down her throat again, his destination painfully clear.

“Mm?” was his only reply.

“I don’t think I’m sleeping much tonight.”

She felt him smile against her throat, and she went stiff against him as he sucked gently at that spot, trying not to squirm at the heady sensation, and failing. Her knee slipped between his legs, pressing against his front, her pulse thudding in her ears. A little mewl escaped before she could stop it, and she thought about pushing him away again.

He backed off a little on his own at her teasing.

Much as she’d rebelled plenty during high school, as much as she’d enjoyed her freedom in college, she was _not_ an exhibitionist.

What she’d told him was true; he was all hers, and _only_ hers. No one else’s. Even the girls, it was completely off-limits, talking about Bucky. He had enough secrets and issues, and demons, and guilt to last a lifetime for each of them _five times over_.

Not only did she find herself viciously protective of him, but it wasn’t their business.

When had _that_ occurred to her?

When had _any of this_ become who she was?

Another whistle went up in the crowd. Probably someone else doing this exact same thing. They were half tucked around an alley corner; they couldn’t be that visible.

She’d always been brave. Case in point, she’d sat down on a lab stool, a couple feet from an amnesiac former HYDRA assassin because she’d been _curious_. She’d wanted to ask him about his arm, but it had occurred to her immediately that doing so would likely come off as rude, regardless of the fact that he…probably…(she was just spit-balling, there) didn’t want to talk about, would sooner _rip it off_ entirely. She’d seen his face.

A little dazed.

A little lost.

A little uncertain of…everything.

Hollow.

Broken.

Cold.

Alone.

She knew she couldn’t really… _fix_ that, per se. But something about him had moved her to sit down and start talking… _at_ him, if she was being honest.

Distract him.

Maybe her oddball sense of humor could provide some…entertainment.

And she’d finally introduced herself  and he’d opened his mouth, and spoken in that hushed, husky voice of his, and said, “I’d return the favor, but…I’m not really sure who you’re talking to.”

And her heart had snapped, had crumbled into little, microscopic shards that could probably pass through the eye of a needle.

He’d finally looked up at her and she’d seen how pretty his deep, blue eyes were.

And she’d smiled, and covered his hand with her own, wondering if the metal of his left arm could feel her squeezing grip or not.

He’d jumped a little, staring surprised that she’d even touched it, like the appendage should offend her.

And she’d thought vaguely of Steve’s shield. That maybe a person could be just as bulletproof, especially as a stand in for someone else.

She was still working out all the feelings of that whole thing, the _why_ of why she sat down, and the _how_ they’d gotten from there to here, and the _when_ she’d realized she’d fallen head over heels for him, and not the regular, garden variety, but the _holy-shit-Darcy-Lewis-is-done-looking_ sort of variety.

She was still working out how she felt about that.

She’d been worrying over it, really, especially compared to how she’d _thought_ he felt.

She’d assumed he had some measure of affection, surely a sense of her being important to him. He called her often just to check in. As far as she could tell, she was the only person he told the details of his appointments with the doc to. He treated her well, with a certain amount of fragility and care, like she was fine crystal and needed a certain amount of tenderness.

He treated her with reverence and respect, warmth.

She was the one he called when he’d had a particularly awful nightmare and felt like he needed someone there in case there was a danger of a flashback or something of the like.

There’d been a time when him calling her every other night at two am so she could walk him through a panic attack had been a regular occurrence.

That hadn’t happened…God, it had been a long time now.

All those things, they were becoming rarer and rarer.

And he’d been getting braver and less quiet. He’d been getting looser and more willing to flirt and more willing to spar with her to work on her skills. He’d laughed more in the last few weeks than she thought he’d ever done in the whole combined time she’d known him.

There was humor in his gaze now.

And there were other little things. That _awful_ day when he’d run her that bath. Last Saturday, she’d woken to him puttering around in the kitchen, hanging one of her framed photographs on his wall, a pair of sunflowers that leaned in close, like they were whispering secrets to each other, that she’d taken on her last vacation. A huge cup of Starbucks had been on the table waiting for her. Without turning, he’d told her over his shoulder that he’d gone for an early walk and had brought it back for her.

There was a picture of them that Tony had taken when she’d been bothering them in the lab one afternoon, in a frame on his coffee table.

An extra mug in his cabinet.

An extra toothbrush in the bathroom.

And new soft jersey sheets, her favorite.

She was probably an idiot, really; all that just sounded like was love.

_Real_ love, not the _date for a few months and then ditch_ , _because you know it’s not really going to work in the long run_ type of love.

But the type of love that allowed you to creep and seep into each other’s spaces, each other’s lives without even realizing it, until it was seamless and the only things left were the formalities.

He began trailing back up her throat; he never lingered long in one place, but she was distracted now, the desperate urge to press recklessly against him fading as these thoughts dominated.

Oh, _God_. _When_ had they become… _this_?

She’d always scoffed at couples like this, she’d always laughed at Jane’s moon-eyed looks, at her wistful sighs.

But…now she _was_ Jane.

She was probably _more_ Jane than _Jane_ , really, since Darcy often wondered how far this thing with Thor could really go, when he was due back on Asgard and would live for, like, _ever_.

“You okay?” he suddenly murmured.

She jumped. “Sorry. Zoned out.” She swallowed.

He backed off. “You alright?”

She nodded. “Yeah, yeah, fine. I’m sorry, that was…really shitty of me.”

He shrugged. “You’re fine. It’s been a long night.”

She sighed. “And it’s not even eleven.”

Yet another wolf whistle went up.

She rolled her eyes, looking around. “For _God’s sake_ , who’s the comedia—”

“ _Quite_ the show!” Lukin crowed from the other side of the sidewalk.

 

**Little Tidbit** : The sunflowers photo is totally real. They were so cute--they looked like they were having a little discussion, so I fired off a shot and I think it turned out to be one of my best photos!


	6. Home Stretch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is some pain, some gain, and some revenge. Oh, and sexy times. Those too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, guys! Second to last chappie! Lemme know how you're liking it...or not liking it, but maybe then I don't wanna know, right? ;)

Darcy jumped.

Bucky turned to face him, his face tightening as he slid to cover her.

                Darcy rolled her eyes. “Oh, God, you just won’t totter back to the old folk’s home, will you?” She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling rather exposed, even with Bucky’s back and shoulder blocking her partially from view.

                She glanced around. They were largely trapped, their way blocked to yet another awful cyclone fence at the alley’s mid-point. Niccolo stood there, laughing, blocking their way.

                Lukin smiled—a disarming, creepy smile, thin and snaky.

                Bucky reacted infinitesimally, and Darcy was sure she was the only one who noticed as he closed the space between them further, pressing her back against the brick wall, his hand landing blindly on her hip. She settled hers on his good shoulder. “This is what we get for stopping to make out like a couple of teenagers,” she muttered.

                “Sshhh, doll,” he hushed her.

                “You’ve been a little more difficult to get hold of than we anticipated tonight,” Lukin drawled as he strolled idly into the alley, away from the large crowds still moving toward the Square.

                Bucky gave him a thin smile. “I’m talented like that.”

                Lukin shook his head. “A challenge.”

                “Maybe you shouldn’t have programmed me so well.”

                He shrugged. “Oh, that bit was mostly Pierce these last few years. I suppose I should blame him.”

                Bucky’s hand on her flinched.

                She tightened her grip on his shoulder. There wasn’t much that he hadn’t discussed or brought up or answered about his past. She knew she was probably the only one who knew as much as she did, perhaps more even than Steve.

                She wasn’t sure just how she’d gotten him to open up, really.

                Maybe because she hadn’t done much asking.

                Either way, there was very little he hadn’t told her about at some point or other.

                But Alexander Pierce was someone he _never_ mentioned.

                _Ever_.

                She knew it all, of course.

                But not once had he truly said much of anything about him, or his time spent beneath him as his handler. Not once.

                _Your work has been a gift to mankind._

_Mission report! Now!_

_Wipe him. Start over._

                Which, consequently, made her hate him the most of all of them. She was a bit angry that he was already dead, that Nick had taken the task from her. Even as half a SHIELD agent, she was fairly certain that if she’d ever met him, she’d have shot him dead on the spot.

                _Wipe him. Start over._

                And felt no guilt for it, at all.

                _Your work has been a gift to mankind._

                “Pierce is _dead_ ,” she said, hearing the flat threat even in her own voice. “Nick Fury took the pleasure of shooting him away from me. You’ll have to blame someone else.”

                Bucky’s hand flinched again. “ _Darcy_.”

                “ _What_? No, I’m sorry, but this is getting _fucking_ ridiculous.” She tried to wriggle out from behind him, but, of course, couldn’t. “ _You can’t have him back_. He’s not your chew toy anymore. He belongs to _me_.”

                Lukin raised a brow. “Oh, _really_?”

                “Finders, Keepers, _jerkface_.”

                His face folded into a soft, mocking little smile. “Ah, declarations. How sweet.”

                “Leave the girl and you can have me. I’ll make you a deal,” Bucky spoke, voice low.

                Darcy scowled, shoving at him pointlessly. “No! _NO_ deal! We’re _not_ playing that game! This is _not_ an action movie, and I _won’t_ be traded like _Princess Jasmine_! We’re a package deal, Barnes! And there’s _no_ deal that’s gonna work, because _you can’t have him_. That’s it.” She shoved Bucky again. “ _What_ are you doing?! I thought we _talked_ about this!” she muttered furiously at him.

                He gave her a gentle shove back into the wall. “I _know_ what I’m doin’, doll.”

                “It matters not, besides,” Lukin continued, stepping forward. “I only need speak a few key words and there need not be a deal, girl or no girl.”

                Darcy started wriggling viciously. “Buck, lemme at my purse, I can get to my taser. My phone—I can call Jane, she can send Tony—” Desperation crawled up her throat and she struggled behind him, terror gripping its fingers around her wrists.

                He only tightened his grip. “That’s not gonna help, Darce.”

                She knew she was supposed to be level-headed and calm, but panic was creeping its way around her, icy, and she shook, struggling. “ _Buck_! Lemme up, _c’mon_ , baby!” God, _why_ had she insisted that Jane let them handle it?! So _fucking_ stupid!

                Even as she spoke, three more men materialized out of the crowd, crossing the walk and joined them in their little alcove.

                “ _Shit_ ,” she breathed. “This is the night from _hell_.” She felt her nails digging into the skin of his shoulder. “ _Don’t do this_ , baby, _please_.”

                “There’s no way out this time, Darce.” His voice was low and resigned.

                “ _Jamie_ —”

                “I’ll find my own way out again. Don’t worry.” But his hand shook, giving him away. He was terrified, not that he’d ever admit it.

                “ _No_!” She shoved again, to no avail, her voice going raw. “ _NO DEAL, LUKIN_!”

                “Darcy, go back to the Tower, I’ll figure this out.”

                “Why don’t I make this easy?” Lukin suggested, pulling a gun from his jacket.

                The men followed suit, and Niccolo approached to hold his piece square with Darcy’s head.

                She flinched, her fingers aching from the hold she had on his shoulder. “This fell apart _really_ fast.” Thinking quickly, she slipped her other hand from his shoulder and tried to move it, finding that she had a range of motion. One eye on Niccolo, she slid it into her bag, groping blindly for her taser. If she could just get her grip around it…or her phone…

                “You won’t open fire in a crowd,” Bucky challenged, his tone hard. “Even HYDRA’s not that stupid.” His false bravado was flawless, his voice even and stern.

                Lukin shrugged. “Perhaps not. One cannot know for sure.” He smiled, thinly. “Nighty-night. _Pa-SpEE-HA-Ra-Sho_.”

                Darcy froze.

                But nothing happened.

                Lukin frowned. “ _Pa-SpEE-HA-Ra-Sho_!” he commanded again, spittle flying.

                Nothing.

                Lukin rolled his eyes, and sighed. “Go on, then, Niccolo.”

                The moment snapped.

                Niccolo took a step inward toward her, cocking the hammer on his gun, sneering—

                And Darcy yanked her taser out of her bag and fired the second and final charge at him, biting her lip and flinching.

                Niccolo hit the ground hard, twitching, and the gun went off, the bullet flying and ricocheting off the side of the next building, sending brick dust down around them.

                Numerous people in the crowd screamed.

                Lukin scowled, waving frantically at the other three men. “Get _in_ there! _Go_!”

                Bucky grabbed her and yanked her down to the ground, hard, and she cried out when her skull struck the wall behind them.

                Another bullet flew, shooting into the air harmlessly.

                Niccolo continued to twitch on the ground.

                Bucky yanked out the charge and stuffed the taser in the back of his jeans.

                Lukin repeated the command, shrieking over the crowd.

                Bucky flinched.

                People began rushing around, confused and fearful.

                They used the commotion to their advantage, and he pulled her down the alley toward the fence.

                “ _Another_ _fucking_ _fence_!” Darcy complained, stumbling to keep up with him, his grip tight around her wrist.

                His hands were rough around her waist as he lifted her. “I never made any promises!” He hoisted at her butt and then went over, dropping down in a rush on the other side, face drawn and pale.

                Lukin’s voice rang out again as his goons catapulted after them, shouting to each other and adding to the din as he repeated the awful phrase in Russian, bellowing in fury.

                Darcy wasn’t too distracted climbing to miss his dazed blinking. He swayed, swallowing and shaking his head as though to clear it. “Jamie?”

                But he gestured. “Come on, doll. Up and over. _Hurry_ , babe.”

                She climbed, a little more confident now. “What’s wrong?” She threw her leg over and worked her way back down, quickly, pleasantly surprised at her own efficiency.

                Lukin screamed again, determined for it to work.

                She dropped down on the other side, grabbing his shoulder when he swayed again. “Jamie?”

                He blinked at her, his eyes dilating as she watched.

                “ _Jamie_!”

                “ _I’m fine_ ,” he assured her, but his voice was less than confident.

                “It’s working, isn’t it? You were fine before.”

                He nodded. “I dunno. Maybe repeating it is…reestablishing the conditioning.”

                Again, Lukin screamed it, at the top of his lungs.

                Darcy flinched.

                Bucky gripped the fence with his good arm, squeezing his eyes shut.

                She cupped his face in her hands, struggling to keep calm as the goons rushed the fence. “ _Focus_. You gotta focus, baby. _Focus_.”

                One of Lukin’s men hooked a foot in the fence and started climbing.

                She grabbed his wrist. “ _C’mon_ , Jamie, we can’t hang around.”

                It was a testament to how off he was feeling that she was successful in pulling him along after her, but as they moved, he seemed to get his feet back under him again, and they spilled out into the crowd on the next street.

                She spun around frantically until she spotted a street sign. “Six blocks. We can do six blocks, right?”

                He nodded dazedly, eyes on their pursuers, who were just exiting the alley behind them, looking around. He ducked slightly, hunching his shoulders and trying to blend into the crowd. He took her hand. “Come on.”

                They waded in, trying to move as fluidly as possible through the tightly-packed people, squeezing and shifting, looking for gaps wherever they could find them.

                A shout went up; a different voice, but the same phrase. One of the men tailing them. There was an endless supply.

                He swayed, gripping Darcy’s hand. “Oh, _God_ , it _hurts_ ,” he rasped as he squeezed his eyes shut.

                She continued tugging him. “Has it ever hurt before?”

                “Uh, no, no, but they’ve only used it once or twice. I don’t really…remember.”

                “So why _now_?”

                “Probably a built in mechanism in case I try to fight it.”

                She sighed. “Wonderful. _Peachy_.”

                They continued stumbling through the huge crowd, the ball all lit up in the distance, bright and blinding, sparkling and twinkling merrily, the holiday season washing the city in good cheer.

                She rolled her eyes. “You with me?” Worry gnawed at her gut. God, all she’d wanted was a nice night out, relaxed and romantic. Oh, and he’d _never_ let this go, he’d feel guilty about this mad ride they were on for _weeks_.

                As if she hadn’t expected something like this, dating the frickin’ Winter Soldier…

                He nodded.

                But then the call went up again, like their pursuers were attempting some twisted game of _Marco/Polo_ with them.

                Bucky went down on one knee, his face screwed up in pain, sallow in the dim light.

                She gasped as he pulled her down. “Buck?” she prompted.

                He gasped in a breath. “I dunno if I can do six blocks, Darce. Not like this.”

                She swept his hair out of his face. “It’s _that_ bad?”

                “It’s _blinding_.” He was gritting his white teeth.

                She shut her eyes and tried to stay calm. Darcy Lewis didn’t panic, either, _damn_ it. She could do this. She stood unsteadily against his iron grip and looked around. Two blocks. They’d made it two blocks. Wow, record time in the New Year’s crowd. That left four. In fact—she looked up, trying to study the landscape. It looked so fucking different in the noise and lights. Yep—there it was—the giant _A_ of the Tower. She got down on her knees, reaching to cup his face, ignoring the people around them watching curiously. They absolutely couldn’t let these innocent bystanders get hurt in the crossfire, not when they were just out for some fireworks. And _Jane_. She’d never forgive herself if she called and someone got hurt. Janey. Tony. She swallowed, hard, at the thought.

                It was too late now.

                They were on their own.

                “Jamie?”

                He swallowed.

                “ _Jamie_?!” She shook him.

                He finally looked up.

                “I need you to _focus_. Can you do that for me?”

                Someone yelled, and he flinched.

                “You’re _not_ their toy anymore, you’re _not their slave_.”

                Again, the same bloody phrase went up over the crowd. What were they doing, _paying everyone to start chanting it?!_

                He ducked his head, panting in pain, and she could feel his pulse in his temple, rapid beneath her palms.

                “ _Bucky_!” Fear locked around her heart.

                But he nodded in signal that he could hear her.

                “ _C’mon_. You’re the _Winter Soldier_ , you’re _stronger_ than this.”

                He looked up at her, wincing.

                She steeled herself, staring hard at him. “Now, I am _not_. _Letting_ them take you. So, _get up_!”

                Shaking, he shook his head to clear it.

                “ _C’mon_ , baby, _you have to get up_. _Please_ get up! I can’t…I can’t do this otherwise,” she begged, her voice straining thinly.

                Snarling in pain, he leveraged himself to standing, swaying uncertainly on his feet.

                “Buck?”

                But he nodded, slipping his hand around hers. That dark determination back in his eyes, he plowed ahead, darting between people, in and out, in and out, pulling her along behind him, single-minded, with a mission.

                Relief tried to saturate her, but she held it at bay. Too soon. She was a firm believer in the Jinx, just like she was a firm believer in chance and Fate and all that other crap. She _never_ had been before, had always been too independent and rational—but then Jane had taken that wheel right out of her hands and plowed them straight into an _alien_ _god_. And then, _as if once hadn’t been enough, done it_ _again_.

                She’d _never_ mock any of those fanciful ideas _ever_ again, as _long_ as she lived.

                One of the goons bellowed again, but Bucky was vigilant, up, on his feet, though his hand tightened, painfully, around hers.

                Three blocks.

                Someone cut in front of him and immediately regretted it, stumbling drunkenly out of the way, eyes wide as Bucky snarled and set his wintry gaze on him.

                Two blocks.

                They rounded the corner and were greeted with the beautiful view of the Tower at the end of the block, glowing a blue-white, the _A_ a gorgeous beacon.

                She smiled—

                And a searing pain went up her arm as a hand closed around her opposite wrist and squeezed—hard. She gasped, spinning around and was met with the stony gaze of one of their pursuers.

                He sneered, his iron grip unbreakable as she pulled against him.

                But Bucky was _done_ ; his night was _over_.

                He appeared out of _nowhere_ and let her other hand go to latch his grip around the goon’s shoulder.

                Their gazes met, icy and challenging. She was glad to see that Bucky’s was creepier, his expressive brows drawn in and low, sharp, like a hawk.

                His arm whined gently as he increased his grip, forcing the goon to drop Darcy’s wrist, yelping in pain.

                But he didn’t stop there, his gaze hard, and she was sure he was seeing red.

                The whirring increased, and a nasty smile turned up the corner of his mouth as the man’s arm bent at a strange angle, before stopping altogether.

                The crack of his snapping collar bone was wonderful, as was the sight of him crying out and dropping down on his knees.

                In a last ditch effort, he opened his mouth to speak—

                And Darcy punched him in the jaw, barely knowing what she was doing, only aware that she couldn’t let him speak another God-awful word.

                The crowd gasped in unison.

                A few people cheered.

                Darcy shook out her hand, biting her lip at the immediate ache.

                But Bucky was already moving again, his eyes on fire as he stalked away, lacing his fingers with Darcy’s and pulling her with him.

                But Lukin was waiting for them in front of the Tower, leaning on his ridiculous cane with a snide little smile on his lips.

                Bucky stopped in front of him. “ _Move_ , old man.”

                A shiver went up Darcy’s spine. She _knew_ that voice. That was his _scary_ voice. He _wasn’t_ playing around.

                Lukin smiled wider. “ _Nothing_ works with you, hm?”

                Darcy sighed. “I just wanna go in and go to bed, dude. _Seriously_. Can we play _Cat and Mouse_ later? Maybe tomorrow, after I’ve had some coffee? And, you know, some first aid?” She shook out her hand again. God, it smarted, really punching someone. Bucky hadn’t mentioned that _at all_.

                But Lukin stopped her complaining with yet another gun, pulled from another pocket in his ridiculous suit. “Nothing at all? You truly are a creation of _stunning_ perfection.”

                Bucky smirked bitterly. “It’s funny. We won the War, but you just won’t lay down and _lose_.”

                Lukin cocked the hammer, his eyes cold on Darcy.

                But Bucky reached out with a lightning grip and snatched up the weapon, tossing it aside into the crowd, where staring people played _Hot Potato_ with it, before tossing it back down. It landed with a clatter.

                Lukin stared—

                And Bucky latched his metal hand around the old man’s throat and lifted him clean off the pavement, one foot, two feet, three, a nasty snarl coming from deep, deep down in his chest.          

                People in the crowd gasped.

                “ _Oh, my God!”_

_“Who is that guy?!”_

_“Wait. That’s the Tower, is he some sorta…?!”_

_“I wonder if he knows Tony Stark…”_

                But Darcy wasn’t listening, was focused on the dark look on her boyfriend’s face, was reading it for what it was.

                She’d seen it countless times before.

                Murderous intent.

                Just after they’d really started dating, after that first long night, that awful panic attack, after he’d told her about the details of that freeway battle, she’d gone out searching for it to watch it a second time with different eyes.

                She’d seen that look on his face too many times to count.

                Rage.

                Single-mindedness.

                Like he truly was a machine, with one programmed mission that he _could not fail_.

                When he’d tried to kill his own best friend.

                She swallowed.

                No matter how awful, how _evil_ , she knew he’d _never_ want to kill another soul.

                She gripped his good shoulder. “Bucky.”

                Nothing.

                Lukin struggled in his iron grip, gurgling pitifully as he tried to slacken it, to breathe.

                “ _Bucky_!”

                His pupils had finally gone down to pinpricks.

                She shook his shoulder. “ _Jamie_.”

                With a soft whir, and recalling another bit of footage Darcy had watched over and over, he lowered Lukin just enough to gain momentum, and threw him bodily into the crowd, where people backed away enough to catch him, staring at the old man, lying panting on the ground, half-sprawled in their grip.

                In the silence, one guy looked up, the tassels on his winter hat swinging. “What do you want _us_ to do with him?”

                Bucky turned. “ _Call the cops_. The Avengers are busy.”

                And he strode up to the glass panel doors.

                “ _Welcome back, Sergeant Barnes_ ,” JARVIS greeted them calmly, and the doors swung open. “ _And Miss Lewis. Welcome back to the Tower. I’ve nearly completed your required identification and should be ready for distribution in approximately forty hours. Shall I alert Mr. Stark of your return_?”

                They collapsed, breathless, against the wood paneling, looking at each other.

                For a long, breathless moment, it was silent, the soundproof glass doors showing them a silent movie of the most ridiculous tradition Darcy had ever involuntarily been a part of. She’d lived in New York or the surrounding burrows for most of her life, but not once had felt the desire to squeeze into that huge crowd.

                “This was fun,” she finally rasped. “We should do this every year.”

                Bucky was calm again, leaning on the wall and watching with detached interest, and he snorted in reply. “If you think about it, it wasn’t our _worst_ date.”

                She grinned. “Yeah, there was that night I was stupid enough to sneak up on you in your apartment.”

                “I still feel bad about that. It was lucky I didn’t really cut off your breathing.”

                She snorted. “Hey—I should’ve known better than to _jump_ on you when you were laying in the dark with a migraine.”

                He shrugged.

                She reached down for his hand. “Should we go up? I think I need you to peel this dress off me. Like, _now_.”

                He pulled her gently along, his body relaxing just by crossing into the main lobby.

JARVIS was confused. “ _Shall I alert Mr. Stark_ —” he started again.

“ _No_ , JARVIS. I’ll deal with his _deposition_ later,” Bucky cut him off. “And stop calling me that, I haven’t held military rank in decades.”

                “ _As you wish, Sir_.”

                They crossed to the elevator, and Darcy sent a quick text off to Jane assuring her they were alright and back in one piece. And Maria—because she was _Maria_ , and would _surely_ know _something_ was up by now.

                “ _Your residential floor, Sir_?”

                Bucky rolled his eyes. “ _For Chris’sake, JARVIS_.”

                “ _Of course, Sir_.”

                They slumped against the elevator wall and settled in for the long ride up to the eighty-eighth floor. “At least he’s efficient,” Darcy offered.

                But his face had gone that shade of sorry and concerned, and he pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her. “ _Oh, God, that was close_. I don’t _ever_ wanna see a gun to your head again,” he breathed.

                She pressed her face to his chest. “Hey—we aren’t covered in confetti and glitter. There’s that.”

                He took a deep, deep, endless breath, and finally pulled back, frowning as he pressed his long fingers gingerly to her head. “Are you alright?”

                She nodded. “Doesn’t hurt anymore.”

                He peered closely into her face. “Your eyes look normal. You let me know if you start feeling _weird_ , okay?”

                “ _Miss Lewis’ vital signs all appear to be normal_ ,” JARVIS supplied.

                But he was silent, moving to inspect her hand instead, where her knuckles had broken open. He clucked his tongue.

                “That hurts more, actually.”

                “Least you kept your thumb out this time,” he said, smirking. He knelt to inspect her ankle. “This went out when that asshole at the café took you down, yeah?”

                She nodded. “A little. Doesn’t really hurt yet.”

                “It _will_. It _all_ will. Just give it time, it’ll come back to _bite you in the ass_.” He went around her to survey her back, pulling her dress away from her spine. “You land on your tailbone?”

                She squirmed at his warm breath on her skin. “No.” Oh, God, she sounded like a horny teenager. “You sneakin’ a glimpse, there, Barnes?”

                But he wasn’t feeling playful. “No.”

                “Well, _damn_.”

                He sighed, his fingers light on the back of her head again. “No blood.”

                She turned. “I’m _fine_ , Buck. I’ll _live_. Just sorta pissed none of that was captured on film. Might convince Tony to let me train officially.”

                He winced as he straightened. “Much as I hate the idea…”

                “What? Me being an agent?”

                He sighed, pulling a metal hand through his hair. “Yeah. I don’t want my girl out there in the world when the _world looks like that_.”

                She reached up to fold a lock of his hair behind an ear. “I know.”

                He pulled her close again and didn’t let go until the doors had dinged open. They made their way down the hall to his door, where the light on the panel turned green and JARVIS automatically let them in.

                She dropped her purse on the floor, and he deposited her taser on the counter after sliding off his shoes and socks.

                It was blessedly silent inside, everything just the way he’d left it when he’d gone out, and he shut and locked the door behind them, turning to watch her in the space.

                She went into the kitchen and opened the fridge, frowning as she looked through it. “What is _this_ — _Thai takeout_? I don’t remember us getting Thai takeout—you holding out on me?” she accused with a smirk as she pulled out a white box.

                He looked a little bashful. “I _told_ you. I barely sleep when you’re not here. I go out walking. City is different at night. Certain intersections, they…they look like…home. I guess.”

                “ _Brooklyn in 1945_ , you mean?”

                He nodded. “Steve said our old building is gone. There’s just a wine bar there now.”

                “Yeah, he mentioned that. Took me down once and showed me. Sad.”

                He shrugged. “Everything changes.”

                She set the takeout back in the fridge and shut the door, going over to him and folding herself into his arms. “Not _everything_.”

                He sighed. “Darcy—”

                “ _Don’t_.” She burrowed into his chest. “Don’t. It’s _over_. It doesn’t matter. We got out.”

                “ _Darcy_ —”

                “ _Stop_. I wasn’t gonna let them take you. _Nothing was gonna stop me_. And you weren’t gonna kill Lukin, although you _probably_ should’ve. There. All summed up. Happy?”

                He was silent.

                “I love you,” she whispered.

                He tucked his face against her throat and tightened his embrace. “Not sure why.”

                “You don’t have to be. You’ll figure it out.”

                “All of that, tonight…should’a scared you off.”

                She shrugged. “Nah. I tase Norse gods. I’m fearless.”

                “Darcy, my old handlers nearly _killed_ you— _at least_ twice. My past isn’t gonna stop sneaking up on us, babe, it’s always gonna lurk there, at my elbow. No matter how much I ignore it.”

                She shrugged again, pulling back to look up at him. “ _So_? Everyone’s got a past, Buck. Some are just… _bloodier_ than others. Besides, what is it Nat always says? ‘ _The truth is a matter of circumstance’? ‘It’s not all things, to all people, all the time.’_ So…ignore _that_ circumstance. I know _saying_ it is easier than _doing_ it, but…you can’t kill an idea, right?”

                He sighed. “That’s not what she meant—”

                “No, _that’s exactly what she meant_ , Buck. You think she doesn’t deal with her past in the Red Room? Doing work for the _KGB_?”

                He looked away.

                “Steve told me the other day she, uh…talks in her sleep sometimes, begs someone to stop. Always takes her a minute to recognize him when he finally wakes her up.”

                He stood there, unsure what to say.

                “We’re all…misfits here.”

                He swallowed.

                “You think I didn’t consider that things like this might happen when I got involved with you, Jamie?”

                He looked away with a pained expression.

                “You think Steve fell in love with Natasha because he liked former KGB assassins? It’s a _circumstance_. And the truth is a matter of _circumstance_ , and it’s _not_ all things to all people all the time. It’s _not_ all things to me. It’s just…a facet of you.” She shrugged. “Now, you gonna rip this dress off me or what, Soldier Boy?”

                His brows were gathered together and he was biting his lip as he looked at her, clearly torn. “Darcy, I…”

                “Tell me again,” she whispered, stepping back in close. “ _Say_ it.”

                His throat worked. “Darcy…”                 “ _Say_ it. You should say it again, not for _me_ —for _you_.”

                He sighed, looking up toward the ceiling.

                “For _you_. Because _none of this is your fault_. You didn’t _ask_ for _any_ of this. You’re _not_ a monster. Monsters don’t _feel_. They don’t feel guilt, like you’re feeling now. They don’t feel anger and regret, they don’t—”

                He cut her off with a desperate kiss, his mouth slanting across hers so hard that her back bowed against his grip. “I love you,” he whispered breathlessly against the skin of her neck, counting a trail down toward her jugular. “I love you.” He reached it, pressing his mouth there and making her squirm against him. “ _I love you_.”

                She pressed back against him, her fingers ghosting down to the hem of his shirt and slipping up under it to get at the warmth of his chest. “Then shut up, already.” She tugged until he relented, slipping away momentarily to peel off the ruined shirt and toss it to the floor.

                She stood waiting for him with a soft smile and when he returned, she wrapped her arms around his neck and got up on her toes to meet him, and he felt the tension in his neck and shoulders melt away.

                How she always did this to him he would never understand. She could ease any ache, sooth any wound, make him soft and pliable, usually with just a look and a well-placed word or two. She could dissolve all his doubt and siphon it away at a moment’s notice. Make him feel human.

                She sighed as he found the zipper on her dress and pulled it down, slow and deliberate, his tongue sweeping across her front teeth in the most fulfilling kiss they’d shared all night.

                He left again to creep down her throat, finding that trigger spot again with ease, and she was putty in his hands, her nails scraping lines in his shoulders, her fingers creeping up to tangle in his hair, and he relished the rough moan it drew from her.

                The dress loosened around her and he peeled it off, slipping his hands softly along her skin and letting it slide to the floor in a puddle around her feet.

                Her hands toyed with his belt buckle, fumbling to undo it and it clanked noisily in the silence as she slid the belt off his jeans. It landed on the floor with a clatter and she went to work on the button and zipper. But she didn’t get any further than that.

                She squeaked in surprise when he hauled her up in one swift move, hoisting at her ass and forcing her to wrap her legs around him as he took  his time crossing the room, tasting the remnants of her wine from dinner still on her tongue as he made tracks, not even watching where he was going.

                He hadn’t made the bed that morning; had been too restless after tossing and turning, and had showered and gone straight down to the gyms to work on his sparring, frustrated after a night alone.

                And, of course, Steve had already been there, destroying punching bags, and he’d tip-toed around uselessly, trying to avoid him, not that it had worked or anything. He’d been lectured—good-naturedly, of course, Steve was _never_ _anything_ but kind and patient—about getting out in the world a little more, maybe meeting a girl.

                He’d tried not to roll  his eyes at the ironic turnabout in their relationship—at least as much as he _remembered_ it—and gone back up early to shower again and get some work done.

Tony had left them all with huge files on the half-baked Ultron project and leftover paperwork from their last op. He wanted their input before beginning some world security program, insisted that he didn’t want a disaster like the one they’d avoided with Wanda and Pietro and that, as a team, he wanted them all to work _together_. His drones were still a work in progress. The week before, he’d set a single one loose to test it out and it had scattered the contents of his lab around the building in an attempt at cleaning. Tony was still missing some tools.

                So when he’d left that evening to walk over to Darcy’s tiny apartment, he’d been restless and exhausted, frustrated, and—therefore— _nervous_.

                But that all dissolved as he passed into his bedroom, melted away as he set her on the bed. She flopped over onto her back in a very unsexy fashion, something so _Darcy_ that he laughed as she squirmed, wriggling around until she was comfortable.

                Then she sighed, her eyes sliding shut. “Ah, this _bed_. Do I get to keep it now?”

                He cocked a brow and smirked. “Should I leave you two alone?”

                She grinned. “Get over here, soldier.” She pointed. “And take those off. Like, _now_.”

                Rolling his eyes, he slid his jeans off and tossed them aside, joining her a moment later and shifting around until they were tucked in with each other under the sheets in a little tiny world of white.

                “Always takes you so long to come back to me.”

                “You’re just impatient,” he teased, pulling off her heels and throwing them out of their little fort as well. “Did you forget these or have they become permanently affixed to your feet?”

                She groaned in irritation and he paused as his eyes fell on the blisters and the rising bruise on her right ankle.

                He frowned, then pulled back again to look her over in better detail.

                She was black and blue, _already_.

                He sighed.

                “ _Stop_ ,” she ordered before he could start.

                “You want ice?”

                She scowled, wriggling. “I _want you closer_.”

                “Darcy, baby, it’s only gonna get wor—”

                “ _Jamiieee_ …” she whined. It had an immediate visceral and physical effect on him, that sultry sound. He couldn’t resist.

                He relented, sliding his metal arm around, under her back, and kissed her, soft and lazy. He worked the clasp on her bra and she shrugged out of it, throwing it out somewhere, laughing. Then he began his own stubborn inventory of her injuries, traveling down, trailing hot, openmouthed kisses along her belly, until he reached the sharp red splotch on her left side. “My elbow, after that taxi ride?” he asked, looking up at her through his hair.

                She nodded, watching him.

                “Hm.” He kissed it reverently.

                She laughed, rolling her eyes.

                He kept going, stopping to kiss a mark on her thigh she didn’t remember acquiring, a small strawberry on her knee she also didn’t remember, and he paused for a long time, studying her ankle. “This is probably gonna be bad in the morning,” he murmured, frowning at the already darkening purple. “Should probably have it checked out. You feel anything snap?”

                She rolled her eyes again. “I was _walking_ on it, wasn’t I?”

                “You’d be surprised at what adrenaline can do. You might get up in the morning and fall clean over. Looks like a sprain.”

                “ _Get back up here_ ,” she sighed, grabbing at him. “And take _those_ off, too.”

                He smirked, but pulled off his boxer briefs and discarded them as well. He set to creeping back up her body, taking his time, pausing again to kiss her skinned elbow and cluck his tongue again over her knuckles, covered in dried blood. “I don’t _like_ this,” he finally declared.

                But she grinned, kissing him on the nose. “Battle scars. Speaking of…” She reached up his back to line the long, white scar she’d located long ago there, but never asked about. “You remember this?”

                He shook his head.

                Another, lower, closer to his hip, a star pattern, like a bullet hole. “This?”

                “War.”

                She reached up, her face soft and curious as she studied the angry lines of what was left of his left shoulder. It was a smooth mass of lines and ridges that fused neatly with his cybernetic arm. She knew that Tony had suggested he get his head on straight before they dive into anything deeper than strict maintenance of the hardware. “Does it hurt?”

                He shook his head.

                “Do you…remember?”

                He shook it again. “I woke up to find Zola talking to me in that sick little voice of his, and it was already done.”

                She frowned quizzically. “Do you…know how it works? Like how your body controls it? Are your nerves attached to it?”

                He shook his head again.  “It wasn’t like he ever offered any training sessions with it.” He offered her a crooked smirk. “It just…is _there_. Does what I want it to do and how I want it to do it.”

                She cocked her head, thinking. “And Tony does _all_ the maintenance on it now?”

                He nodded. “Yeah. I’ll have to have him look at it tomorrow, after that knife the taxi jerk took to it.” The arm whirred softly as he twisted to look at it. “Maybe he could buff out the star.”

                “Mm, leave it,” she said, her hands beginning to trail off in other directions, _southward_ directions. “I like it.”

                He kissed her softly, shifting over her, his breath hitching as her hands found purchase, stroking and squeezing. “ _Darcy_ …”

                She smiled against his mouth.

                He hooked a finger into the thin material of her panties and tugged them slowly down her legs, watching her pout as he left her to discard them as well, leaving a kiss on that same ankle.

                “You aren’t gonna let that go, are you?”

                He didn’t answer, just set her with a wicked grin as he travelled back up her body, his mouth leaving a trail from her knee to the inside of her thigh, up to her hip. The fingers of his right hand found their own destination, stroking along that tiny patch of nerves that sent her pinging off in all different directions.

                She gasped, tipping her head back and squirming in pleasure, bucking her hips beseechingly and baring her throat, which he also took advantage of. “ _Jamie_ …” she breathed, her hands tightening in his hair.

                “Mm?”

                “Not tonight.”

                He pulled back to look down at her.

                She swallowed, breathless, her cheeks flushed. “Not tonight. I don’t want… _that_ …tonight. Just _you_.” She hoped she wouldn’t need to explain her own exhaustion, her selfish need to have him flush against her, comforting and fulfilling, a period at the end of the awful sentence of the day reminding her they were _alive_.

                He didn’t need her to explain. He just nodded, leaning down to kiss her again, softly, and she wrapped a leg around him as he eased into her, her whole body tightening like a bow beneath him, around him.

                She sighed, her eyes fluttering shut. “Better.”

                He smiled, shifting his metal arm lower to support her back and leaning forward to get the angle he knew had the power to undo her in record time.

                Her whole body unwound. “ _Perfect_.”

                It was slow and meandering for a while, sweet and soft, and he took his time, his mouth trailing along her collar bones, nipping gently at her throat, her ear, his hips keeping a tender rhythm as she met each stroke.

                She felt his hand tighten around her hip before easing, and she smiled. “I won’t shatter, Buck. I’m a little tougher than that.” She canted her hips in suggestion. “We’re alive. That’s enough.”

                So he let his focus drift, easing off the reigns. “I think _you_ trust me more than _I_ trust me.”

                She smiled. “Isn’t that how it’s _supposed_ to work?”

                She wrapped her other leg around him, sliding her heels along the backs of his thighs, altering the angle, shallower, and he was right _there_. She gasped, clutching him closer, and he kissed her more desperately now, all his control evaporating at the sound of his name in her mouth. “ _Jamie_ ,” she moaned, a harsh plea, her hips rising to meet his deeper thrusts.

                He couldn’t hold back his rough growl, though he tried, and he slid a hand up to wrap around her waist, driving into her with the urgency she seemed to need.

                Neither of them lasted much longer. A high, soft keening curled its way up her throat and out, and he felt her spasm around him, shattering his control.

                He sighed brokenly as he came apart, his mouth running softly up her throat, then back down, then back up, all his worry rushing out of him with every heartbeat, in time with her breathing. “Darce.” His metal hand settled warmly between her shoulder blades and he felt her heart beating a tattoo against his bed.

                She curled herself around him with a ragged, satisfied sigh, enfolding him in her embrace and murmuring in his ear.

                He pressed his face into the hollow at her throat, pressed his mouth just there, where her shoulder met her neck.

                “See?” she finally said, into the silence, voice deep and husky, her fingers trailing a soothing line up and down his spine. “You didn’t break me.”

                He sighed again and pulled away, kissing her as he left, and settled beside her in the bed, pulling her against him. “Mm.”

                She cuddled shamelessly into his side, burrowing against him, and set her head to the hollow of his shoulder. “Better?”

                He stretched, stiff bones popping. “My head’s quiet.”

                She snorted, scratching at his chest with her nails. “Yeah, because there’s no _blood_ up there.”

                He chuckled softly. “You know what I mean.”

                She kissed a line up his chest until she’d crossed over his jaw, where she stopped, eyeing him playfully. “I dunno. It _sounded_ like you said there are voices in your head, Barnes.”

                He smirked. “Shut up.” He kissed her once, chastely. “I’m sorry. For earlier.”

                She frowned, drawing lines on his chest with a finger. “For what?”

                “I had a…moment of doubt. _Again_.”

                She pressed her mouth to his chest and kissed him. “We all have ‘em, Buck.”

                “I just feel like…there are certain things I can’t really give you. Things I should be able to give you.”

                She giggled softly. “Like dinner out without having to worry about getting killed?”

                He sighed. “Right. I mean, Darce, I can’t even guarantee your _safety_. I mean, it _sounds_ simple, but it’s not, _not with me_. And I can’t give you anything normal. I’m barely…normal myself. And I can’t…”

                She got up on her elbow and eyed him. “Can’t what?”

                He got shifty for a moment, then sagged, giving it up. “Listen, I don’t…I don’t even know all of what Zola did to us, did to _me_ , in those labs before Steve got us out.”

                “What do you mean?”

                “Things were so crazy for a while here, that I didn’t have a chance to figure it out. And then… _you_ happened…and I think I buried my head in the sand a little, I was too busy focusing on getting my head on straight, and I didn’t think about other things.”

                She blinked, shifting closer. “ _Like_ …?”

                He hesitated, then sighed again. “I probably shouldn’t even be thinking this, let alone _talking_ about anything long-term. It’s hasn’t been that lon—”

                “It’s okay, you can talk long-term,” she said, cutting him off, her gaze steady and full of certainty. “What, are you saying he might’ve…done some sort of… _damage_?”

                He shrugged. “I have no idea. I don’t even really know what he put in my blood to make me like Steve, but…I just…I feel like I should mention this in case you get in too deep and the way out is too…painful.”

                She snorted. “ _Too late for that_.”

                He stared. _He couldn’t believe he was hearing this_.

                “Listen, Buck, if you’re implying what I think you’re implying, you can just stop. Do I look like that kinda girl to you?”

                He shrugged. “I grew up during the Depression, Darce. That question didn’t really exist back then.”

                She nodded. “Right, yeah, I forgot. Well.” She pressed her hand to his chest. “I’m _not_. And I’m not _ever_ gonna be. So you can chill. Darcy doesn’t do white picket fences and three kids and a mini-van and soccer practice and cub scouts. Not gonna happen.”

                He stared.

                She smirked. “That the answer you wanted or you sorry you brought it up?”

                He blinked. “No, no, it’s just…you’re _sure_?”

                She nodded, once. “I’m _very_ sure. Probably more than that, but there really isn’t a level above ‘ _very’_ , so I’m gonna go with that. Is that…really the answer you wanted to hear, though?” she repeated, hesitating.

                He smiled. “Works for me.”

                Still not quite good enough. She narrowed her eyes. “I know, for you and Steve, back then, things were cut and dry, and _traditional_ , and there was really no cause to question that sort of thing. And I know _Steve_ doesn’t care, but…underneath all that suave, charming James Barnes…Jamie, _is that the answer you were looking for_?” she said again, more forcefully, leaning forward.

                He sighed, nodding in relief. “ _God_ , yes.” He leaned forward to cup her face and pull her back down so he could kiss her.

                “Okay, then. Looks like we’re in business.”

                He laughed.

                “Mm…” She broke off, sitting up suddenly and looking around. “What time is it?”

                He turned over to check his digital read out. “Eleven.”

“JARVIS—make sure you alert Dr. Foster that we made it back in one piece, hey?” she called.

“ _Right away, Miss Lewis_.”

Bucky sat up. “We should get upstairs.”

                She shivered. “Why?”

                He sat up, pulling a hand through his hair and disentangling himself from the blankets. “The fireworks.” He stood and went around the bed. “ _Don’t_ get up yet.”

                “ _Wow_ , Barnes.” Darcy laughed teasingly. “Check your ego at the door. I am still capable of _walking_.” She slid her feet down to the floor.

                He gave her an arch look. “Don’t be so sure.” He took her hand as she stood, but was glad to see she was solid and steady on her ankle. “ _Fantastic_.” He grinned. “C’mon. Quick shower.”

                “But, _why_?” she whined. “I _distinctly_ remember Wanda suggesting we _never get out of bed_.”

                He snorted, pulling her along. “I’m _determined_ to see the damn fireworks, doll. If _nothing_ else tonight is gonna go well, we’re at least gonna watch the _damn fireworks_.” He shoved her into the shower stall and followed after, turning on the spray.


	7. Finish Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which conversations, self-realizations, and other conclusions are had. Oh, and it's The End.
> 
> PS--Points if anyone can find a couple little parallels I wrote in here for The BackUp. ;)

They washed quickly and were out quickly. Darcy pulled her hair up into a ponytail and then searched his drawers for a pair of her jeans. He tossed a shirt at her, her Beatles tee she’d forgotten there the week prior, followed closely by her Ike jacket, soft, worn white leather, supple and perfectly broken in under his fingers.

                He slid on a pair of jeans, a new t-shirt, and a tan suede coat.

                She laced her forgotten Keds, he slid on his Nikes and they were off, snuggling in the elevator all the way up to the roof.

                “JARVIS, what’s the time?” Darcy asked.

                “ _11:32, Miss Lewis_.”

                She shrugged. “Record shower time.” She poked him in the side. “See what happens when I’m _not_ interrupted?”

                He grinned against her mouth. “You complainin’, Lewis?”

                She snorted, and the doors slid open.

                “Hey! Speak of the devil! There they are!”

                Darcy winced slightly at Tony’s voice, expecting a video camera, or a huge crowd of people, but it was just him and Pepper.

                They were across at the little patio area he’d designed, a small inset with fire art for entertainment and added warmth and a few wide couches and beach chairs, mismatched and fun.

                Tony was grinning from the lounger facing the elevator, as though he’d been waiting for them. “Even _I_ finished my homework early for this shindig and Steve and Nat are safe at home. What took you two crazy kids so long?”

                Bucky snorted, dropping his arm from around her in favor of taking up her hand. “It’s a long story.”

                Pepper sat up against her boyfriend, frowning, her eyes immediately landing on Darcy’s hand, her efficient, World War Two style bandaging. He’d insisted on patching her up first thing out of the shower. “What happened?” Her all-knowing eyes darted worriedly between them, reading them like an open book. “Are you guys okay?”

                She sighed and threw herself into the plush lounger opposite them. “We are _now_.”

                Bucky joined her and she pulled her legs up to curl back into his side again, nudging him until he wrapped his arm around her, gathering her close to his chest.

                But Pepper’s eyes missed nothing. “You’re _sure_? I don’t need to call our PR reps in the morning?”

                Bucky shrugged. “Not unless you wanna make it public that I threw a Russian HYDRA agent through a crowd with my bare hands.”

                Her eyes went wide.

                Tony sat forward. “ _HYDRA_?”

                Bucky sighed tiredly, which was saying something for him. “I’ll catch you up tomorrow. New York has a lot of agents, that much I can confirm.”

                Stark rolled his eyes. “ _Great_. Here, I thought the night had ended on a high note. Wanda got her intel, Rogers got… _something else_.” He waggled his eyebrows.

                But Darcy waved her hand lazily, tucking her head against Bucky’s shoulder. “Worry about it later, Tony. We’re just…glad to be back in one piece.”

                “And we’re _never leaving this Tower again_ ,” Bucky added.

                She offered her good hand for a fist bump. “ _Word_ , Barnes.”

                He met her with his own, not even blinking. “Truth.”

                Tony snorted, sitting back, looking momentarily placated. “Hey. _Old dog, new tricks_.”

                “I can still punch you, Stark, I’m not that old.”

                Pepper laughed, leaning forward to turn up the flame on the fire element. “Leave them alone, Tony. They look exhausted.”

                But Tony’s eyes were sly. “So. How was the sex?”

                Pepper gasped. “ _Tony_!” She swatted his shoulder.

                “Just trying to break the ice.”

                “Well, _wrong ice_ , Tony.”

                Bucky snorted again. “I’m not as easy to rattle as Rogers, Stark.”

                Tony sighed, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’m figuring that out, there, _Winter Soldier_.”

                “Hey,” Darcy protested. “I’m the only one gets to call him that.” It sounded less threatening than she intended, a yawn ruining it and ripping through her in full force, and she settled her head back on Bucky’s shoulder.

                “Try that again tomorrow, doll.”

                Pepper rolled her eyes and shook her head. “God. You can be such a jerk.”

                Tony grinned. “But you love me anyway.”

                She sighed. “You two are okay?”

                Bucky let his head tip back against the chair, and shut his eyes. “We had a bit of a wild goose chase, but yeah. We’re alright.” His hand slid up Darcy’s arm, then back down.

                “How’s your head? Anymore pain? I didn’t like the look on your face for a few minutes, there,” Darcy asked, reaching up to prod at him. “You’ve got a really high pain threshold, baby, but you were _on your knees_.”

                Pepper sat up, stick straight, her eyes widening. “ _What_?! What _happened_ out there?!”

                “ _Later_ ,” Bucky insisted, not bothering to raise his head. “Like, _tomorrow_. I’m _fine_. You? You’re not dizzy? You looked like you hit your noggin pretty hard.”

                “No.” Darcy grinned. “You’re like a mother hen. I’m _okay_.”

                Bucky frowned, finally sitting up all the way.

                “I tase Norse gods. I’m tough enough to follow you around.”

                Tony smirked. “She took the key, I assume?”

                Bucky nodded.

                Pepper grinned. “Sounds like you guys are withholding information. I’m gonna call the PR department tomorrow, just to be on the safe side.”

                Tony gave them a mockingly stern glance. “Yeah, _talk_.”

                Darcy just snorted a soft laugh, and pressed her face into Bucky’s arm.

                Bucky gestured to Pepper. “I’m more scared of her than I am of you, Stark.”

                Tony shook his head. “Foiled again. She has that effect on most people—including me.”

                Pepper poked him in the side. “And it’s a good thing you let him go ahead with this key thing, or we were gonna have a problem.”

                He rolled his eyes. “Ever the romantic.” He glanced between them, his eyes narrowing again as he sat back and turned to address his girlfriend. “Looks to me like she wants more than the key.”

                Darcy groaned again. “Ugh, I’m too tired to think about that.” Exhaustion was pulling at her, now that they were finally curled up right where she’d wanted to be all night.

                Bucky shifted beside her. “ _I’m_ not.”

                Pepper made a vaguely annoying squealing sound.

                Darcy nudged him with her foot. “You already know the answer, Barnes.”

                He gave a husky chuckle. “Hey, you can take the boy outta 1944, but…”

                She nuzzled him again in the arm, trying to fight off another yawn.

                “Gotta make an honest woman outta ya.”

                Two years ago, before any of this insanity had happened, before she’d tromped on the gas of that stupid van in the New Mexico desert, before she’d hit a Norse god, run from a Destroyer, stared down Dark Elves, or seen any of the other awful things she’d ended up roped into, this idea would’ve scared her off, scoffing and laughing the whole way.

                But looking back…she didn’t think she’d trade _any_ of it.

                Now all she did was snuggle into him further, warmth finally seeping into her bones, contentedness, the sort of warm contentedness that only true safety after danger could get you—or really satisfying sex. Or maybe some combination of the two.

                She burrowed closer. The idea had merit. Lots and lots of merit. She’d told Jane she was looking to put down roots, hadn’t she? She’d stuck with him this long, obviously for a reason. She couldn’t deny the deep-seated, all-consuming need to be close to him, to protect him. She couldn’t deny the fact that none of what had happened to them that night had managed to even make her hesitate for the slightest split second. She’d already said the words. And they were true. She loved him, with her whole self.

                She’d dated other guys before, but…nothing like this—and that was even after all the crazy SHIELD crap they waded through on a daily basis.

                This was different, in a way she couldn’t describe, other than a certainty that it wouldn’t change in a year, or two, or five, or ten. It wasn’t heavy or forced, like the strange relationship she’d realized she was in with Ian, bored to tears after the initial high of a shared experience had evaporated.

                This was…easy. And natural, and she didn’t have to think about it, didn’t have to squint to feel it, to know it was there.

                She’d reached for him before she’d even thought to move.

                She’d never…felt this way…before. Whatever this was…it was _real_.

                For a short moment, she contemplated the idea of going back to her apartment every night alone, of coming in to work in the building for Jane, also alone.

                Not having him at the end of the day. Him, not being there to flirt with if they passed in the hall, or texting her to check she was stopping by when she was done with Jane and should he order her Thai. The fact that he even knew _what_ to order, or the fact that he had her Starbucks choices down _pat_.

                Someone to go home to, _him_ to go home to.

                He’d accepted her just as much as she accepted him, though, hadn’t he?

                Her loud crassness and her stupid, dirty sense of humor.

                Her coffee addiction. If anything, he’d _fostered_ that a little.

                Her whining about Jane and Thor, about Tony.

                Her stubbornness.

                She’d gotten very…comfortable and used to waking up to those pretty blue eyes, his hand at her back as they walked, his smirk across the room when she overheard Steve urging him to go out once in a while and meet new people.

                She must’ve stiffened slightly against him, because Bucky shifted, tilting his head low so they wouldn’t be overheard. “What’s wrong?”

                Only he could tell something was wrong by the way she moved.

                She swallowed back the sudden surprise, the sudden clarity in her head. It felt…good. And calm. And solid, like his hand at her back, like he’d always _have_ her back. “I think I just realized why I sat down in the lab that day,” she murmured, a little dazed, even as she pressed her face against the soft suede of his sleeve.

                Just then, the smaller pre-show fireworks, began, one of the small ones in the local neighborhoods or surrounding burrows, and Tony and Pepper got up to move to the edge of the roof to watch. Tony glanced back once, his face drawn in something that looked a little like worry.

                Bucky shifted again, his hand moving to the back of her neck and he peered down at her, all tucked in next to him. “What’s wrong? You alright, doll?”

                A wave of affection washed over her, and she un-tucked her face, smiling and laughing shyly.

                “What?”

                She shrugged. “I like when you call me ‘ _doll’_.” She hoped she wasn’t blushing.

                He gave a soft laugh. “Noted.”

                She stood, then, untangling herself from him, and went over to the A/V set-up Tony had, tucked under the overhang of the building. She hit a few buttons, peered at it, but couldn’t find anything she wanted.

                Bucky watched her curiously from the couch.

                She leaned in. “JARVIS?”

                The machine whirred to life, lighting up. “ _How might I be of service, Miss Lewis_?” he asked.

                She smiled at his cordiality. It was odd, feeling a certain measure of affection for a piece of programmed hardware, even when you knew it wasn’t real in any fashion whatsoever. “Um. There’s a piece of music I don’t see here. You wouldn’t happen to have it, would you?”

                “ _I have access to over 2.4 billion songs, Miss Lewis, as well as an interface that allows for sound editing according to preferences. Is there something in particular I might find for you_?”

                “What are you doing?” Bucky called, a bemused smile on his face, one eye on the tiny fireworks show, already reaching its finale.

                She leaned in and muttered her request.

                JARVIS’ interface flashed and whirred. The screen lit up as he verified the title and artist. “ _Would you like me to play it in its original format, Miss Lewis? There may be imperfections in the recording_.”

                “No, no, I _wanna_ hear those. That’s how you know it was an _LP_ , JARVIS.”

                “ _Yes, of course, Miss Lewis. As you wish_.”

                “Thanks, J.”

                Immediately, the sound of a full orchestra lit up the rooftop, jazzy horns announcing a bittersweet sort of melody, loud and blaring, but with all the crackle of an old album.

                She turned, throwing her arms wide with a smile. “ _Ta-da_!”

                He laughed, throwing his head back.

                Tony and Pepper turned, alarmed at the sound.

                Darcy smirked; right—not many of them had heard him really laugh, yet. He was slow to warm up. She felt a certain amount of smugness at his confession a while ago that she’d been the first one to loosen him up enough since Steve had pulled off that mask—not that the Winter Soldier had taken much time to giggle. She ambled back over to where he was sitting and leaned over the back of the couch. “Shake any memories loose?”

                He shook his head ruefully. “Not yet. Gimme a minute.”

                “Ain’t you gonna ask your best girl to dance or do I gotta do it myself?” she drawled, deliberately throwing her words.

                He chuckled and stood. “ _Seriously_?”

                “ _Seriously_ , Barnes.” She wiggled her hand. “C’mon, you can’t tell me you forgot that, too.” How else could he be so good in bed; the two went hand in hand...?

                He pulled a hand through his hair. “Might be a little rusty.” He offered his hand.

                She snorted, taking it. “You’re a lotta things, Barnes, but rusty ain’t one of ‘em.” She looped her arms around his neck.

                But he backed up, shaking his head. “ _Uh-uh_ , we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do it _right_.” He led her over a few feet, where the balcony opened up a little, past Tony and Pepper. “Like _this_.” He took her left hand and settled it on his shoulder. “World _forgot how to dance_ in the last seventy years.” He took up her right hand in his metal one, and slipped his right around her waist. “Dancing’s not really about _sex_ ; it’s a _flirtation_.” He pulled her in a little closer, but left a gap between them. “It’s not about being obvious; it’s more subtle than that.” His hand shifted up and settled warmly between her shoulder blades.

                Her heart did a little pitter-patter. Oh, God, if she hadn’t already been thinking in that direction, she’d be there now.

                “See?” He cocked a brow, his mouth curved, and she felt like she got just a tiny flash of the old James Barnes, a little suave and a little smooth. “You’re wrong: chivalry ain’t dead; most men nowadays are just too _stupid_ to know what romance is.”

                She cleared her throat, suddenly thick with wanting, her eyes locked on his. “Mm.”

                He started leading her gently, in a soft little sway, nothing fancy, but suddenly they were in their own little bubble.

                Kitty Kallen started crooning in her melodious voice, welcoming her man home after a long, long time.

                “Oh, _God_ , this is _old_ ,” he murmured, shutting his eyes for a moment and listening, drifting, she could tell. Then he looked at her. “Makes me _feel_ old. What got you looking for this?”

                She shrugged. “Steve played it once for me. I liked it. Something sad about it. And besides—music isn’t like this anymore. There’s something missing. This is _real_.”

                He chuckled. “A woman after my own heart.”

                She blushed.

                “You should take a few pointers, Tony,” Pepper teased as she tugged him along opposite, settling them in the same position.

                Tony rolled his eyes, but went along, leading her a few yards away, throwing Darcy a look begging her to rescue him. But he winked. “I seem to remember doing this once before and I don’t believe I heard any complaining, Miss Potts.”

                “Oh, _really_?” she challenged, laughing that laugh of hers.

                “Mm. I seem to remember you, what was it? Oh, right—wanting to ‘ _get some air’_.”

                “Yes, and then you left me there, _on the roof_.”

                “I have defended myself as to _why_. You are _never_ gonna let that go, are you?”

                “Not on your life, Tony.”

                “What’s running through that head of yours, doll? You’re distracted,” Bucky prompted, pulling her attention back. “How’d we switch rolls, hm? That bit’s my job, ain’t it?”

                She blushed again, nudging him. “Shut up.”

                “Oh, and she’s _shy_. That’s a rarity. Hold on a sec, lemme enjoy it for a minute.”

                She laughed despite herself, self-conscious and darting a look down at their feet. He was right, damn it, her ankle was starting to smart. Hard. She felt her flush brighten, and bit her lip.

                His face changed, softening. “What _is_ it?” His tone was light and gentle, even. He’d learned her well, learned when to push and when not, learned her expressions and how she could sometimes be a little hard to pin down. He seemed to understand that the only other serious relationship she’d had— _Daniel_ —had gone up in a cloud of smoke. Sometimes she still woke up shaking from the nightmare of that night. That fight.

                He’d come to her apartment drunk. _Wanting_. He’d always been a little impatient, but she’d been willing to see it a little further, to be fair about it, first. But she’d been careful not to let him in. Good thing, she knew, in hindsight. Things had gotten heated in the hall when she’d suggested he get sober first and that she didn’t really want to get bashed around.

                And he’d _hit_ her. Square across the face, a solid punch that had left her reeling, and her eye purple for a _month_.

                She’d been a little skittish ever since.

                And Bucky—after he’d finished proclaiming that he’d like to track him down and introduce him to his _left arm_ —had been particularly gentle with her for a week, before she’d finally reminded him that he didn’t need to walk on eggshells.

                But he’d been just as patient with her as she with him; just a few weeks ago, he’d taken her job and shaken her awake, running his fingers through her hair and listening as she told him about the nightmare of it, cycling around again.

                The song had ended.

                “Repeat, JARVIS!” Tony called.

                Pepper laughed.

                “What? We didn’t get a full dance. I demand at full song at least, Miss Potts.”

                Darcy looked up at him as the horns started up again. It was a bright, alive sort of sound, that classic 40’s big band blare. “Did you mean it?”

                He cocked his head.

                She marveled for a second at how relaxed he was now, wondering at the change.

                “You’re talkin’ to a former spy.” He winked, chuckling. “Mean what?”

                “What you said, earlier, to Tony and Pepper, when I said I was too tired.”

                He was keen; she didn’t need to elaborate. His eyes softened. “Wasn’t a declaration, doll.” He shrugged. “Just words.”

                That was all the confirmation she needed. Biting her lip again, she looked away, toward the Square, where the crowd was going wild, the ball teetering at the top of its roost.

                He watched her. “Now who’s having doubts?”

                She took a breath. “It’s not doubt. It’s the opposite. And I…didn’t really know it.” She blushed again.

                “You are _rarely_ this shy and self-conscious, not _my_ Darcy,” he said, giving her a crooked smirk. “What’s up? Talk to me. Don’t leave me hanging.”

                She took a deep breath again, and held it, looking at him. His eyes were clear and steady. “It’s just…I know how we’ve been…and how _you’ve_ been. But…” Oh God, here she went. “I guess, what I mean, is…when you’re…satisfied with… _you_ …” She frowned. “I sound like a dumb-ass.”

                He laughed softly. “No, you don’t.”

                It was like he _knew_.

                She huffed. “When you’re satisfied with _you_. I…I’ll still be here.”

                “Is this the answer I already know?” he quipped.

                _Keen as hell_.

                “It’s just…that…I’m not…going anywhere. _Ever_.”

                A smirk curled the corner of his mouth. “Oh?”

                She nodded. “Yeah. I guess I was thinking about it already, but then you…said it…and I…settled into it. I guess I wasn’t expecting you to—”

                “Make a declaration on a Manhattan street, surrounded by HYDRA agents?”

                “Right.”

                Without warning and much too quickly for her to follow, his arm whirred and he pulled her in close, sealing her against him.

                She gasped.

                But he was serious, a little tease in his eyes. “Was that you very subtly asking for something sparkly in a size…—” he glanced down at her right hand, visible in his—“six-and-a-half?” His pupils were blown in arousal.

                Her eyes wide, she started stumbling over her words. “ _I don’t want us to rush, I don’t want_ you _to rush, I want you to do whatever makes_ you _feel like_ you _again, and I—_ ”

                He silenced her with a searing kiss, his mouth working over hers with purpose and somewhere in the back of her mind, she was aware that no matter how this night finished, she was going to get more of that thing she’d told him she didn’t want earlier.

                When he finally released her, she was breathless, and glad to see that their companions had gone back to the fireworks. “It doesn’t have to be written in stone, doll. It’s just a promise.”

                Just then, his pocket started vibrating between them, and she squeaked at the suggestive sensation on her already sensitized body.

                His eyes shut and he sighed, the moment breaking. “That’s Steve. Too little, too late.”

                Darcy laughed as she recognized the song. “ _Danger Zone_? _Top Gun_? _Really_?!”

                He chuckled as he reached into his pocket. “It’s a joke.” But he didn’t move to answer it yet, his eyes hard on her. “Are we _good_?”

                She shoved him, laughing and rolling her eyes. “Go let him apologize, already. Don’t leave your buddy hanging.”

                His brow furrowed. “ _Apologize_?”

                “I’ve got a feeling…”

                He sighed, but shook his head, pulling the phone out and swiping at it. “Whatcha need, Steve?” He wandered off to the far end of the balcony.

                She sighed, then went over to join Tony and Pepper.

                Pepper was laughing as she leaned against him. “Oh, that one was like _Minnie Mouse_!”

                Tony looked over at her. “You and _Frosty_ alright? Things seemed a little tense there for a sec.”

                He always joked, but she figured she might be one of the few who could see right through to the care and concern underneath. “ _Good_ tense. We’re fine. _Frosty_?”

                He shrugged. “I was trying something out. He’s a good kid. Needs to loosen up, trust himself a little. He’s _tough_. And _smart_. He outta know if he was gonna snap and kill us all in our sleep, he’d have done it by now.”

                Pepper smacked him on the shoulder. “ _Tony_!”

                Darcy smirked. “No, no, it’s okay. I, uh…I’ve been saying that for the past six months.”

                Tony eyed her in that way that he had, like she was a piece of tech and he could see right through to its programming. “ _Good_ six months?”

                She sighed, watching a firework shoot up, boom and crackle, then explode into pink streams. “Yeah. _Really_ good.”

                Pepper laughed, a little teasing. “Sounds _serious_ …” she wheedled.

                She bit her lip, turning to watch him. He was leaned casually against the edge, leaning on his elbows as he talked on his Starkphone. “Yeah.”

                Tony surprised her then, with a serious and thoughtful response. “ _Good_. Good, good. He, uh…needs the stability. You two, uh…you work well.” He frowned, looking over at him. “Is he alright? I worry about him.”

                Darcy stared. “You _do_?”

                He shrugged. “ _Course_ I do. I worry about _everyone_ on my team. But _him_ in particular. You can tell he’s…grasping for something he already knows he’s not gonna catch. Wish I could do something more for him, but Bruce studied his brain scans until he was seeing double. There’s nothing out there that’ll help him. If it’s all gonna come back, it’ll come back on its own, when he’s ready. But not before. Besides—he probably doesn’t want it all back, anyway.” His eyes darkened a little. “Hope he doesn’t remember _that_ night, that’s all I can say.”

                She shifted awkwardly, thinking of his parents. “That night he…slid their car off the road?”

                But Tony smiled a little. “Yeah. It’s okay. Told him it wasn’t his fault. Is he as bad as I think he is?”

                She sighed, leaning on the edge. “Probably worse. But…he’s working through it. Faster than I expected.”

                “That’s probably because of _you_ ,” Pepper offered. “And I’m not just being nice. There’s science behind that.” She snuggled against Tony, giving him a pointed look.

                Her heart throbbed a little. “I just wish he’d be able to see himself as something _other_ than a monster.”

                Pepper smiled softly. “Give him time. It’ll come.”

                She swallowed, turning to watch him again. He was laughing at something Steve was saying. “Guess it just makes me wonder. Are you what you _think_ you are…or are you what…the _world makes you_?”

                “You are what you _wanna_ be, Lewis,” Tony said, firmly. “You gotta pick up and start over. He’ll shake it off. Gonna take time. But you are what you _wanna_ be. _You’d_ do well to remember that, too.”

                She sighed, nodding. “Yeah.”

                “Which is why I’m offering you a job.”

                She jumped, turning to look at him. “ _What_?”

                He waved a hand. “Eh, you babysit Foster, you babysit Barnes, you babysit _me_ —last week? Remember that? Yeah, I was gonna blow up that lab, but you remembered where I put that piece of rebar and you saved the day. Could use that. In, you know, an official capacity.”

                “She does not _babysit_ James, Tony,” Pepper chided sternly.

                Tony ignored her. “So what do you think?”

                She swallowed, her heart pounding. “So…I’d be working for _you_ , and not _Jane_?”

                He shrugged. “ _Everybody_ , really. I mean, _officially_ you’d be my assistant, gotta replace _this one_ over here.” He gestured at Pepper, who laughed and shook her head at him. “But, yeah. Need somebody keeping me in line. Comparable pay, about in line with everyone else, good benefits package from the company. You know your way around the Tower, and since you’ll be here all the time if I need you…it’s ideal, really. You two gonna have enough space in that suite? There’s a bigger one a few floors up, next to Pep and me. You want it—it’s yours. _Spangles and the Itsy-Bitsy Spider_ wanted out for _privacy_ , so it’s just sitting empty.”

                Darcy snorted. “His suite is _huge_ , Tony—it’s, like, _two_ _condos_. We’ll be _fine_.”

                He eyed her. “So, how ‘bout it? You on the team?”

                She frowned. “Wait—does this make me an agent?”

                Tony bit his lip, wincing, something warm flitting across his face. “Let’s…see how that goes. Keep training, by all means—I mean, you got the _world’s best right there in front of you, so have at it._ But…Darce. You’re too _important_ to all of us. Let’s just…ease our way into things. That sound like a deal?” He stuck out his hand.

                Taking a deep breath, she set her own within his grip. “Uh. _Yeah_. Sounds like a deal.”

                He smiled. “Great. We’ll hammer it out on…Monday? Gives you two the weekend to recoup from… _whatever_ tonight was.”

                She threw herself into his arms, laughing. “Thanks, Tony.”

                He patted her back. “I know, kid. I know. It’s gonna be alright.” His voice softened, and Pepper’s hand slid over hers. “ _It’s all gonna be alright_.”

 

 

                “Hey, Buck. I saw you called. You need something?”

                Sometimes just hearing his voice sent his heart into a patter, broke him out in a cold sweat. This was one of those nights. Things were too close to the surface tonight, too open and raw, and he felt exposed, like a nerve. He felt like just hearing Steve’s voice threatened to undo all the work he’d done that night.

                He felt lighter. Not _easy_ , but lighter than he had in a _while_.

                He glanced over to find Darcy watching him, standing with Tony and Pepper, a contemplative look on her face. No doubt talking about how bad off he was.

                She smiled, then, and glanced away.

                Or…maybe not.

                Her laugh danced across the distance to him, and something in him eased. “Yeah. Called you earlier. No big deal.”

                Biggest lie of them all.

                “Everything okay?”

                He shrugged pointlessly. “Where’s Nat?”

                “She’s getting dressed. We just got home, had a shower. Just finished an op.”

                “Oh, yeah?”

                “Mm. Yeah. _Listen_ …”

                _Oh, God_ , here it came. The _bombardment_. Since when had Steve done this to him? When had it become _work_?

                _We looked for you, after. My folks wanted to give you a ride to the cemetery._

_I know, I’m sorry. Kinda wanted to be alone._

_How was it?_

_It’s okay. She’s next to dad._

_I was gonna ask—_

_I know what you’re gonna say, Buck._

_We can put the couch cushions on the floor, like we did when we were kids. It’ll be fun. All you gotta do is…shine my shoes, maybe take out the trash. Come on._

_Thank you, Buck. But I can get by on my own._

_The thing is…you don’t have to._

                “Yeah?”

                _I’m with ‘til the end of the line, pal._

                Steve hesitated.

                “What’s up, Steve?”

                _Just rip the goddamn bandage off, already_.

                “So, you and Darcy?”

                He flinched. “…Yeah. Me and Darcy.” The reaction was knee-jerk, his surprise at how protective he found himself over the two of them, their little unit.

                “…How long has that little fling been going on?”

                _Fling_? His heart skipped. Same reaction. Possession.

                _Since I sat down at that lab table. Since I woke up on that helicarrier. Since I realized I was capable of feeling again. Since I saw her. Since she saw me._

                He swallowed down every last response and settled for the easy one. “Last six months--officially, anyway. And it ain’t a _fling_ , Rogers, so shut up.”

                Steve chuckled. “ _Alright_ , _okay_. So…what _is_ it, then?”

                He rolled his eyes, then regretted it as he felt like the proverbial teenager. He glanced over at Darcy again, his heart aching.

                _Everything_.

                Steve seemed to take his silence as an answer in itself. “ _Oh_. Okay. Got it.”

                _Awkward_. God, things with them had never been awkward. Ever.

                _Thought you were dead._

_Thought you were smaller._

                “Uh, Nat mentioned she thought it seemed, uh…pretty serious.”

                “Mm.” Yeah, you could say that. He was still wrapping his head around it; that his casual, skittish Darcy had effectively told him she wanted it all, _forever_. Not that he was going to tell Steve to point him in the direction of the nearest Tiffany’s yet, or whatever.

But he didn’t say any of that. He reached up to rub at his tired eyes. God, they couldn’t keep doing this. Something had to give.

                “I’d ask why you didn’t tell me, but…I already know the answer, I think.”

                He sighed. Just dive in. Darcy would tell him to just dive in. “ _Listen_ , Steve, I—”

                “I’ve been an ass, alright? I _know_ I have.”

                Well. That was unexpected. He paused, blinking.

                Steve sighed loudly over the line. “Nat said sometimes you miss stuff when you’re standing too close. And I’ve been standing too close. I’ve been standing _way_ too close, and I missed the obvious.”

                “What’s the _obvious_ , Rogers?”

                “The way you look at her. And the way _she_ looks at _you_. And I’m pretty sure I heard you laugh with her the other day, and that was probably telling, and I didn’t put two and two together, because I’m an idiot.”

                He smirked; he couldn’t help it. “Yeah, you are. Always have been.”

                “Yeah, yeah, I’m a punk, I know. You used to remind me every chance you got. A scrappy punk didn’t know when to quit.”

                “You still don’t.”

                “Alright, alright. I got it, _I got it_.”

                Bucky chuckled, the vice around his heart loosening just a little.

                “I’ve been trying not to push, and I ended up pushing anyway. I just…wanted you to…”

                “Be the old Bucky?”

                Steve paused, sighed.

                Bucky pulled a hand through his hair. He could say it. He could. He could let it go. He could let it go, and let the chips fall where they may, and he could…try and…see what that left him. “Steve…your Bucky is dead. He fell off that train. Had his arm _sawed_ off. He ain’t coming back.”

                Steve cleared his throat. “I know.”

                “You got his ghost instead. Alright? That’s all that’s left of me. Scraps.”

                “You _know_ that’s not true. And even though I’m an idiot, I’m sure Darcy would agree with me. She’s a smart girl. Loyal. She’s stuck with Jane through it _all_.”

                “Yeah.”

                “I just wanted things to be…a little like they _were_ , and for you to get back to yourself, or whoever you _wanted_ to be, and I pushed too hard. You’ll do it in your own time. And anyway, you _did_ do it and I was a jackass, and I should’a known better, ‘cause it’s not like _you_ ever needed help with the dames. I mean, it was _your_ job to help me, I was _hopeless_.”

                He laughed. “You were worse than hopeless, Rogers. You were _awful_. Besides…” He sighed. “You got Natasha without my help.”

                “No, _Captain American_ got Natasha without your help.”

                “ _No_ ,” he repeated. “ _Little Steve Rogers_ got Natasha _without_ Bucky’s help. And you _know_ it.”

                Steve laughed lightly.

                “What?”

                “…Nothing…you just…sound like your old self, a little.”

                The smile slipped off his face as he watched everyone below making merry. They were singing, some people in the crowd, now, swaying back and forth. His heart ached, and with all that had happened, he wasn’t sure why. Maybe that was why it ached. The pain seemed like one giant wound, and there was no direct cause. It just throbbed dully for such a large jumble of reasons that the reason didn’t matter anymore. He just knew it ate at him. It was akin to homesickness, that desperate, cloying, reasonless pain of being… _elsewhere_. “You can’t go back, Steve. No matter how much you think you want to. It’s gone. There’s no way back.”

                He was quiet, and Bucky got the feeling he was doing the same thing, staring out his apartment window. “…I know.”

                “ _We can’t go back_. You sound like you’re having a harder time accepting that than I am. I enlisted. You became…you. You can’t go back to that airplane any more than I can go back to that table in Zola’s lab in the Alps. I’m different now. _You’re_ different. Everything’s changed. You gotta pick up the pieces and see if they can fit together another way.”

                For a long while Steve didn’t say anything.

                Bucky stood watching the crowd, _Auld Lang Syne_ ringing up into the cold air and tugging at him, hard. He wanted— _needed_ —to go back to Darcy, so badly it _hurt_. She was the only thing that soothed this _awful_ _ache_.

                “That something Darcy said?”

                He smiled. “Nah. Came up with that all by myself.”       

                “You wouldn’t have her. If you went back.”

                “You wouldn’t have Nat.”

                “Mm. No, I wouldn’t.”

“’Sides…much as I hate it sometimes, everything that’s happened…I don’t _wanna_ go back. It’s dark back there. And cold. And I wouldn’t be _here_ , where I’m _supposed_ to be.”

Steve sighed again, murmured something in reply to Natasha in the background. “It’s just…you’re okay? I just want you to be _okay_ again. I don’t need you to be the _other_ Bucky, I just want you to be _okay_ again. That’s all. I just want you to…shake off the shadow.”

                Bucky took a deep breath. Darcy was making her way over, her face open, one part curiosity, the other warm concern, and it deepened when he turned and met her glance. But warmth bloomed in him again, and the song fell away. “Yeah. I’m okay. I’m _good_.”

                “Alright, then. I’ll talk to you…later.”

                “Yeah, I’ll see you on Monday.”

Darcy arrived and squirmed until she was cradled under his arm, and she giggled softly as he wrapped it around her. “Hey, Steve!” she called, grinning.

                Steve laughed. “Hi, Darcy! See ya, Buck.”

                “Bye.”

                He ended the call and traded hands, slipping the phone into Darcy’s back pocket, and leaving his hand there.

                She wriggled. “You getting hands-y again, Barnes?”

                “ _Always_ , for you.”

                She snorted. “Well, keep ‘em to yourself until we’re back downstairs.”

                “Only until then?”

                She laughed, deep and lovely. “Yes.”

                “Deal.” He slid his arm around her waist.

                “You two kiss and make up?”

                He sighed at her.

                She winked, nudging him in the side.

                “Yes. We _kissed and made up_.”

                “Good. Can’t have the duo of Captain Spangles and Mr. Broody-Pants splittin’ up.”

He rolled his eyes, but a smile tugged at his mouth.

“ And I start on Monday, by the way.”

                He looked down at her. “Start what?”

                “New job.”

                He blinked. “ _New job_?”

                She winked.

                He snorted. “ _Tony_.”

                “Tony.”

                He grinned.

                “You didn’t put him up to this, did you?” She eyed him.

                He snorted. “I barely talk to him.”

                “Yeah, he’s _noticed_.”

                “What do you mean?”

                She shrugged. “He _worries_ about you.”

                He frowned. “He _does_?”

                “Yeah. Wants you to…find your footing.”

                He blinked. “ _Oh_. No, babe, I didn’t say anything. You gotta do stuff for yourself or it won’t mean anything. _I’m_ not gonna get in your way.”

                She stared at him, a soft smile blooming on her face. “You couldn’t be any more _perfect_ , I _swear to God_.”

                He barked a laugh.         

                Tony and Pepper jumped again, looking over. Pepper smiled and waved. “You should do that more often, it sounds good on you!” she called.

                He shook his head.

                “C’mon, the ball’s dropping.” Darcy tugged on his hand, pulling him back to their company, the crowd below a deafening rush and roar of jumbled numbers, unintelligible. The ball was sparkling and beaming as it descended and as it reached the bottom, it exploded into a bright blaze, and everyone screamed, confetti canons bursting.

                “What a mess,” he said.

                “We don’t have to clean it up,” Tony pointed out.

                Darcy laughed. “ _Suckers_.”

                Pepper dragged Tony to her mouth.

                Darcy watched them quietly as they kissed, murmuring softly to each other. And suddenly, she was tipping into him, squeaking in surprise.

                He cocked a brow as he caught her. “You know, I _am_ familiar with _this_ tradition…”

                She looked back at Pepper, whose hand was still raised, and she waved at them impatiently. “She _pushed_ me. Pepper, you’re such a bitch.”

                But Pepper was distracted by her boyfriend’s mouth, and reached out to shove her again.

                Darcy went completely off-balance, letting out a soft shriek before she tipped into him. “ _Ow_!”

                Pepper signaled a thumbs-up.

                But Darcy was scowling and hopping uncertainly.

                “What’s wrong?” Bucky asked, snaking his arms around her waist and pulling her against him. “Your ankle?”

                She sighed. “You gonna say ‘ _I told you so’_?”

                He gave her a sly look. “I _could_ …but eh, I won’t.”

                She rolled her eyes. “Just shut up and kiss me, Barnes.”

                He obeyed, leaning down to press a soft, chaste kiss to her mouth. “Happy New Year, doll.”

                She smiled, looking up into his eyes. “It’s gotta be better than the last one, right?”

                He laughed. “ _God_. Can only go up from here.”

                “ _That’s_ the spirit!”

                He kissed her again, a little less chastely, and she hung onto his collar, mewling as he ran his tongue over her front teeth. Finally she gave him a shove and he acquiesced.

                “Now carry me back downstairs, this ankle is _killing_ me.”

               

               

               

 

 

 

               

 

 

               

               

               

 

 

 

               

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys all so much for reading! I really hope you liked reading it as much as I liked writing it! I can't seem to get the little gang outta my head...I might be developing a problem. Anywho, lemme know what you think, if anything bugged you/got left out/if you'd like a sequel. 
> 
> Sarah :)


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